


of butterflies and rivalries

by camicazi



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Sports, Clingy Kyungsoo, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Playful Chansoo, Rivalry, Rivals to Lovers, Swimmers Chansoo, Where They Do Couple Things But Don't Realize It, minimal angst, not enough varsity fics in general, this took me more than a month to write wtf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25402900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camicazi/pseuds/camicazi
Summary: Top swimmer Chanyeol has already set himself to be team captain, but when his only possible competition for the title returns to Korea, his plans change.For the most part, Do Kyungsoo is still the same: polite, quiet, perfect. Except—now there is something between them, buried and forgotten.What do you do when your rival owes you a life debt?
Relationships: Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Park Chanyeol
Comments: 34
Kudos: 169
Collections: Round 4: Spring and Summer





	1. ready

**Author's Note:**

> written for: [exo seasonal fest, round 4] [prompt blossom #17]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> definition of terms:
> 
> -butterfly: one of the four strokes in swimming competitions  
>   
> -(400) IM: individual medley. an event requiring the swimmer to swim all four strokes, it is usually dreaded for its difficulty.  
>   
> -time trials: when you swim to get your best time for a certain event. [they help the swimmers determine their progress, and keep track of their personal records.]  
>   
> -DQ: disqualification  
>   
> !! spacing between the paragraphs (there will be long ones) are consistent and intentional!!  
>   
> 

A swimmer walks down the almost-empty streets of downtown Seoul, no particular destination in mind. 

The season's first blooms have started to appear even in the city's cemented sidewalks, buds on bushes and vines and trees, but Chanyeol is too busy glaring at his phone to notice. 

Text. 

He still can’t believe Hyunjin would break up _over text_. 

_Hey_ , Chanyeol reads again. The KKT notification had popped up while he was eating lunch.

_Let’s break up. You’re too intense for me. I know I’m too dull for you too. Let’s not ask anymore questions, okay?_

_I’m sorry. Let’s stay friends._

Chanyeol sighs.

Their two-month relationship was flimsy enough to not leave too deep a mark, and in all fairness, she was right.

Chanyeol was grateful to end it. 

They were too different—her softness made Chanyeol look too rough in comparison.

His guitar-calloused hands engulfed hers when they walked together and his voice was louder than her bright violet hair could ever hope to be. 

It wasn’t that they fought a lot.

It was that they couldn’t connect. 

Baekhyun had been complaining about his new professor when he saw Chanyeol’s face.

“It’s for the best,” his best friend had consoled, rubbing circles down his back, promising to be around him more, “and didn’t you complain about her being boring?” 

"She still could've done it _in person_ ," Chanyeol had moped, and Baekhyun had nothing to say to that. 

Chanyeol slams the little booklet Sehun had gotten for him shut—the red threads, intertwined around pinky fingers, mock him in their simplicity. 

_the red thread of fate may stretch or tangle_

_but it may never break_

“Fate, my ass,” he mutters, feet almost losing a grip on the road's downhill slope.

In the silent streets of downtown Seoul, something rumbles in the distance.

He hears the unmistakable roar of a street racer’s car from a mile away, but Chanyeol still flinches when it cuts up a path of dust in front of him.

The small spring flowers, blooming in the trees nestled in their own ceramic pots, are ripped out of their branches.

They fall slowly below—potential cut off too soon. 

Chanyeol scowls as he watches the car loop, back to race through the empty roads once again.

Where the road curves tightly towards an intersection, there's a 7/11—neon sign bright against the quickly fading sunlight.

Coupled with cheap ready-made tteokbokki and ramyeon, it provides him a good enough escape from the smell of burning tires.

He watches the yellow car speed by through the convenience store’s floor-to-ceiling windows, remembering a time when he and Baekhyun would go out to judge the designs on their sides, flames and skulls and cute animals turned rabid. 

Street racers usually popped up during spring break—the hidden races provided enough entertainment for high schoolers like him, back when he still was one.

Now, a soon-to-be fresh graduate, Chanyeol only shakes his head as he gets up, going back home at the intrusion of what was supposed to be a peaceful night. 

Broody, granted his mood and purpose for taking a walk in the first place, but peaceful. 

In the not-so-silent streets of downtown Seoul, a boy on a bike speeds towards the corner.

Chanyeol only catches enough of a glimpse to admire his headphones—much like the ones he'd bought recently, expensive and sleek.

He makes it a few steps before he hears the car’s tires screech again, far enough away.

A tick goes off in his mind.

His feet slow to a halt. 

Chanyeol can imagine its yellow-flamed body curving around the street light, almost as well as the blind spot up ahead. 

“Hey,” Chanyeol calls out. “Slow down!” 

The corner is sharp enough to obscure any oncoming traffic—but that's not nearly as dangerous as the downward slope that you have to take to reach it.

The boy speeds up. He should have been more careful, but with how empty the roads are, he probably thinks nothing of the intersection.

And with the headphones...

Chanyeol curses. 

Those headphones blocked out _everything_.

Chanyeol used them at parties, when the strobe lights and powerful bass became too much for his ears. Baekhyun had risked a strained throat once, because they’d bet that the headphones could block out his screaming. 

The headphones won. 

“Hey!” he signals again, when he’s finally caught up to him.

The boy doesn’t hear him, nor does he hear the car.

Chanyeol does, though. 

And it sounds like it’s coming impossibly faster. 

At this rate, the boy wouldn’t be able to see the car fast enough for his brakes to make much of a difference. 

Chanyeol hears the revving of an engine, nearer and nearer.

He runs onto the pavement, and the boy has time to look up at him before Chanyeol kicks at one of his wheels.

 _Hard._

The effect is instantaneous—the boy shouts, momentum making him skitter across the ground. 

The bike lands on top of him, the headphones, wireless, are thrown forward, and Chanyeol cringes when he hears something crack. 

A steady stream of curses explodes out of the boy’s lips. “What in the motherfuck—“ the boy groans, clutching at his ankle—“ _what the hell is your problem_ —“

Chanyeol can barely open his mouth to answer before there's a muffled _crack_ — 

The boy’s headphones transform into shards that fly right at their faces—Chanyeol is quick enough to bring up an arm to shield his eyes, but the boy is not. 

Chanyeol tracks the car the best he can, tries to look for a plate number before he sees that there isn't one.

This time, it doesn’t wrap around the intersection.

It goes straight, until all that’s left is a white plume of smoke under glitching restaurant signs and the erratic thrumming in Chanyeol’s chest.

His adrenaline gives him no other choice but to focus on the boy in front of him, shaken.

There’s a shallow trickle of blood on the boy's jaw.

Chanyeol sees his fingers, cut and scraped, tremble from where they’re gripping the one of the handles of his bike.

Chanyeol studies him—tall, lean, thick eyebrows almost disappearing into his bangs. A thin nose sits between wide eyes, glued to the spot where his headphones had been, now mere pieces of glass and metal on the street.

Impossible.

Without Chanyeol, it would have been impossible for him to have avoided that accident. 

Chanyeol extends his hand, a small part of him curious as to why he looked so familiar. 

“Chanyeol,” he says, when the boy takes it.

“Kyungsoo.”

He yelps in pain when he tries to stand, and Chanyeol loops his arm around the boy’s—Kyungsoo’s—middle, supporting his weight. 

They make their way to a bench, the boy wincing whenever his foot lands on an uneven space of pavement.

“Thanks,” he says, once they’ve settled down. “You—you saved my life. Ruined my bike, but I guess I’ll have to forgive you for it.”

There’s a snarky comeback on the tip of his tongue, _what kind of loser thinks a bike is near worth his life,_ when Chanyeol catches a familiar scent. 

Strong, comforting, sharp. 

Chlorine.

Years of experience has the smell ingrained into his very being, clinging to his skin no matter how much he tried to get rid of it. 

“You’re a swimmer.”

He feels the boy tense, and pieces of information fall into place—the deceptive, but broad, slope of his shoulders, the varsity jacket tied around his hips.

“Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol grasps for a name, _sure_ he’s heard it somewhere, and he finally gets it. “Do Kyungsoo.” 

Rising star swimmer. Half-son to the owner of Do Enterprises, one of the biggest tech conglomerates in South Korea. 

“Holy shit,” he repeats, “Do Kyungsoo.” 

_That’s_ why he seemed so familiar. He can’t believe it’s taken him this long. 

“Park Chanyeol.” His rival nods, fishing his phone out of his pocket, a _tsk_ dropping into the space between them as he turns on the flashlight.

A lift of his sweatpants reveals his ankle, already swelling but not thankfully not broken. 

“I hoped you wouldn’t recognize me.”

“Why not?” 

Kyungsoo’s lips twitch as he types. “Weren’t we enemies in our past lives?”

There’s a beat, and for a while, all they do is watch petals flutter to the pavement, spreading pollen and questions.

“Even if we were enemies," he replies, the reference feeling like a good anchor to the oncoming waves of awkwardness, "I think you must have saved mine.”

He doesn't know how to talk to Kyungsoo. All they've ever gone were stuttered greetings. 

“If I wasn’t where I was, you’d be dead. Maybe Past Chanyeol had to make it up to you in this life.” 

The premise is witty enough, Chanyeol supposes, formed because of their positions as top swimmers of competitive swim clubs.

It wasn’t that they kept being pitted against each other—times set into competitions and their coaches’ eyes tracking their techniques to compare should the opportunity for correction arise. 

It was common enough in the world of sports.

No.

The real clincher was their few but painfully awkward interactions, so hard to watch that the only explanation, they said, was that they must have been enemies in their past lives. 

They’ve become a running joke within their circles—

— _they must have hated each other so much—_

—teammates looking for their names like easter eggs after a meet—

_—look, they’re beside each other again, we should force them together more, it’s a whole experience man, no, no, they don’t know how to act, it’s hilarious—_

“What should I do, then?” Kyungsoo asks, choosing to watch the stars instead of the flowers. His black hair shines under the lamplight, a sharp contrast to Chanyeol’s red. “Do I recognize Past Chanyeol’s efforts? Or do life debts not translate into your other lives?” 

“I suppose they shouldn’t.” Chanyeol pretends to think about it, placing a hand on his chin.

“What’s done is done. I think Past Chanyeol deserves an acknowledgement though, for getting the timing right.” 

Kyungsoo’s laugh, Chanyeol finds, is satisfying to hear. “Then I owe you, Park Chanyeol. Enemy in my past life or not.” 

Instead of a long walk, Chanyeol gets this. Not too bad, for someone whose plans were to mope across the city.

The conversation builds.

If only they’d gotten past the politeness earlier, Chanyeol thinks he might have been one of Chanyeol’s more closer friends.

Or at least one of the better ones. 

They laugh about the things their teammates have pulled for the sake of their joke—

_—they almost made me take your bag, we had identical ones, blue with the stripes, do you remember—_

_—coach almost put me in the 400IM because you were there too_ , _do me a favor and stop being good at everything—_

_—you’re one to talk, I had to haul ass perfecting butterfly because of you—_

—when a shiny black sedan pulls up in front of them. 

With nothing but Baekhyun’s favorite strawberry yogurt and Kyungsoo’s broken bike for company, they should have seen it. 

They should have heard it coming in the heady air of spring, nothing else making too much noise except for the stories of the two boys sitting on a bench. 

The window rolls down. 

There’s a gun pointing at Chanyeol’s head. 

Everything gets reduced to a pinpoint, down to the glint along its body. 

“Wait!” Kyungsoo jolts, placing an arm in front of him, “no—no— _no,_ Jinsung, he isn’t a threat—” 

The front of the gun slides back, metal folding to reveal a small flame. 

A lighter. 

“That’s so fucked up,” Chanyeol whispers, blood drained from his face. “Why would you even do something like that, oh my god—“

“Chanyeol, I’m so sorry—“ 

There's a snap, and a woman steps out in a black coat. Her heels click against the sidewalk, lipstick a splash of red against the night.

“Kyungsoo, my dear.” 

She stoops, coat falling around her as she tuts at his ankle. She moves like what Chanyeol can only describe as a cartoon character—smooth, like everything around her floated. 

“Grandmother,” Kyungsoo greets, “will you please tell your guards to stop terrorizing people?” 

They barely look alike, if at all. 

“I would, darling,” she twists it next, forcing a wince out of him, “but I nearly died moments ago myself. I’ve been sent to fetch for you.” 

The woman lands her gaze on Chanyeol, and he has the overwhelming urge to shrink back.

“This is the one that broke your bike?” 

At Kyungsoo’s nod, she takes Chanyeol’s hand, running a thumb across his palm. It's soft—cotton.

She hums, flipping his hand over, manicured nails lingering on his pinky.

Something in the air shifts—her eyes soften, smile reminding Chanyeol of a fox. Friendly. Deceptive. 

“I was worried you wouldn’t arrive,” she whispers, almost to herself, “but your threads are shining again.”

Chanyeol jerks away from the sudden hand on his cheek.

“Don’t tangle it too much this time, you understand?” 

Chanyeol's mind is still racing, for the second time in the span of thirty minutes, from almost seeing death.

“Uhm, yes ma'am?”

Two men clad in black suits step out next, boots heavy. They open the trunk and start placing Kyungsoo’s bike inside. The spokes are ruined, warped in some places.

Chanyeol didn’t mean to kick _that_ hard. 

“My grandmother’s a shrine-keeper,” Kyungsoo hands Chanyeol something. At the look the woman gives him, Kyungsoo amends, “priestess, actually. Whatever. I’m sorry if she gets weird.”

“What’s this for?” Chanyeol asks, turning the glossy piece of paper in his hands. 

“My number.”

Kyungsoo lets one of the men support him up, watching his hands come over his waist.

Chanyeol's mouth suddenly decides to take on a mind of its own.“The next thing you usually receive after a number is dinner.” 

There's a pause—

“I’d like to believe that my life is worth more than a flimsy excuse to ask me on a date.” There's amusement in Kyungsoo’s eyes. 

“I guess you could think of it like that,” Chanyeol replies after watching them help him into the car, “but it’s important to take as many opportunities with rich people as you can. Especially when all they do is scam ordinary people into giving them money they don’t deserve.”

“Watch it,” the guard spits out.

Offering a glance through the window, Kyungsoo doesn’t seem to be offended at his anti-capitalist agenda, and neither does his grandmother. 

“Sorry about the gun thing,” he says, sounding genuine, “call me. For your sake, I hope you come up with something more opportunistic than dinner.” 

The car pulls away, as quick and silent as it came, taking Chanyeol’s last bits of energy with it. 

There’s a text from Baekhyun, asking him to buy what is already hanging from a plastic bag in his hand.

 _I got the banana ones,_ he lies, imagining his best friend’s put out expression as he starts his walk back to their dorms.

The booklet lays forgotten in the street, left behind among the shards. 

  
  
  
  


_pingu homemade goods ~ requests and orders welcome!_

Chanyeol stares at the number again, hearing the drone of an automated message repeat for the fifth time that day. 

_The number you are calling is unavailable. Please try again later._

The small cartoon penguin is almost annoying. The gloss of the paper catches the bright afternoon sun, peeking through their dorm room’s cheap curtains. 

“Dude,” Baekhyun snatches his phone away, “why are you so antsy? You should be smart about this. You just saved a _chaebol heir’s_ life _._ You could ask for _anything_.” 

_I hope you come up with something more opportunistic than dinner._

“I know that,” he grumbles, letting his head fall back into the cushions. “I’m just trying to see if he gave me a fake number.”

Even if he maybe wants to check how Kyungsoo was doing, after the morning news said that their whole family was engaged in a targeted ploy to take out all the potential branches of Do Enterprises. 

Chanyeol might be his rival; his best competition, but he isn’t cold-hearted. Chanyeol is the only other witness to Kyungsoo almost dying. 

“You know how those companies work,” Chanyeol says, “maybe it’ll just send me to their secretary’s secretary or something. I can label him as fake and move on.” 

“Remember when we wanted to hang out,” Baekhyun takes his face between his hands, “and you ditched me because you had a date with that Yara girl?” 

Chanyeol raises his brows. “That was a year ago,” he says, muffled, “but okay—“

“I waited for two hours!” Baekhyun starts using his soap-opera voice, “I was the last one to go because the store was closing up, and then you said you’d catch a movie but you kept me waiting _again.”_

“And your point is?”

“I’m just saying,” Baekhyun grins, “a new pair of goggles would be really good around this time.”

Chanyeol throws all the pillows he can reach at him, enjoying how Baekhyun runs around to avoid them.

“Some best friend you are,” he mutters, smile growing wider by the second, penguin falling to the floor.

  
  
  
  
  


Do Kyungsoo vanishes. 

He doesn’t attend competitions, almost disappears from the swimming community entirely. 

Some type of agreement is reached—the space beside Chanyeol’s name becomes empty. 

It will eventually be filled by others, rotating and changing, but sometimes, Chanyeol’s eyes will find Ilsan High School out of habit, looking for those familiar figures. 

Chanyeol gives up trying the number on his card.

He goes back to the bench a few more times, always expecting it to be empty of a boy with full bangs and wide eyes, and always, his expectations are fulfilled.

Chanyeol moves on.

He focuses on university life, on music, on the team. He goes to parties. He makes people laugh with his jokes and whole crowds at bars silent with his songs. 

The summer before his first year of college, he falls for Kim Junmyeon—a theater major with a voice as smooth as the silk scarves he loved to wear. 

He is serious where Chanyeol is playful, put-together where Chanyeol is handsome.

He goes on dates with him, holds his hand, goes to his plays. And then breaks up with him doing the exact same things.

He drowns himself in training and piano chords until he gets back up again. 

As a response to his growing popularity, and how he is as a person (as Yoora says), he becomes careful of how people see him.

Always a step ahead, always considerate of other people's anything and everything. 

It’s tiring, but he doesn’t say that.

He stays careful.

Next, he falls for a studio near university, charms the owners into letting him record projects.

He also falls for Choi Mina, a quiet fashion major whose voice reminds him of windchimes, and Choi Mina, if her advances were to be trusted, seems to fall for him.

They stay in a dance, skirting around each other, neither really inclined to move.

He stews about it to Baekhyun and Jongdae when they hang out, when Chanyeol’s second bottle of soju reaches down and finds nothing else but the shallow attraction to another opposite. 

Too opposite though, like Hyunjin, and so he knows it wouldn't work out anyway.

Their friendship is nice, light. Chanyeol didn’t have enough of those, and he didn't want to risk it. 

Sometimes, he’ll see Kyungsoo’s grandmother out in the streets. Sometimes in restaurants. One time at a high-end bar; always with lipstick so red it made her look like she had a slash of blood painted across her face. 

But other than that, Do Kyungsoo doesn’t make himself known. 

His number has long been deleted from Chanyeol’s contacts. 

Chanyeol forgets, accepts that maybe he was just one of those characters in someone's life that don't present themselves for more than one time. 

  
  
  
  
  


It’s a long time after the incident when Chanyeol hears his name again. 

They’re checking their results for the spring’s first official time trials—the air is charged with dread. 

Some did well. Some did not. 

“Hey,” Minho says, goggles hanging from his fingers, trunks with his name on the side. It’s the old design—Minho graduated college the year before, and has graced their coach, Joohyun, and his dongsaengs (Chanyeol’s seniors), with his goofy presence. 

“Where’s Chanyeol’s enemy-what’s-it? That kid.” 

“Ah, the one from his past life?” Baekhyun jokes, training a teasing look at Chanyeol. 

Chanyeol is carried away with Baekhyun’s imitations, laughing and playing along. 

He finds out later, through rumors drifting across the heat of the shower rooms.

Kyungsoo had left for Japan the same day he’d met Chanyeol. 

  
  
  
  


Chanyeol watches from the ready bench, not quite believing his eyes. 

_Do Kyungsoo_ , it says, in bold print.

There is an asterisk beside his name—the coaches have singled him out. 

Summer has finally come around, and the whistle around his neck is a small consolation to the hoarseness in his throat.

His sunscreen makes his skin latch on to the paper.

Stuffy drafts have all of them in the thinnest shirts they can find, but they’re useless for him and Jongdae, assigned under the rays of the sun.

"We always get the shortest sticks," Jongdae had complained, but quickly shut up at Joohyun's stare.

It must be the heat, Chanyeol thinks now, as he rallies the next batch of high schoolers into their designated places.

It couldn’t possibly be him. 

“I heard he was a foreigner,” someone says. “Have you seen his gear—“

“Have you seen his turns, it’s impossible for him to be a rookie—“

“Forget the turns, look at his _face_ —“

"I didn't want to say it but he's really handsome—" 

“He dropped out of everything last year, just disappeared—”

“I wanted to talk to him before he did—“

“They say the national team sent him to train—“

“Learn-to-swim over here, please,” Jongdae’s voice booms across the ready bench, and Chanyeol almost laughs at the way they jump. 

Five events and twenty heats later, Chanyeol nods towards Jongdae, who steps back with a relieved look on his face.

Their shift is done. 

Baekhyun, already looking tired, takes his clipboard from him, sending him away with a slight and friendly slap to the ass that he’s too tired to fend off. 

He peels away from the crowd—the boards light up as an electronic beep rings with a declaratory boom from the loudspeakers. 

The audience, more than ten schools competing for a place under Joohyun’s training program, lands their eyes on the first one to finish, everyone else a solid lap behind him. 

_LANE 5 – 56.03 s_

The swimmer rips off his goggles and cap, panting. 

He’s gotten taller, Chanyeol notices, shoulders broader. Eyes sharper than the last time he’d gazed at them, but still as sparkling as they’d ever been. 

Do Kyungsoo reappears in the summer.

  
  
  
  
  


Kyungsoo’s words jumble together when he introduces himself. 

Chanyeol was right.

A lot of him has changed, if he’d ever had a solid comparison to start with. 

There’s a sureness around him now; voice deep and steady when the time comes to answer the team’s questions. 

_yes, I continued training in Japan—_

_no, that doesn’t mean I’m better—_

_yes, I cook—wait, how is that important—_

_no, there’s no problem, I forgot my contacts, sorry about that—_

_yes, Jongin, now you’ve made sure everyone knows I’m your best friend—_

Chanyeol doesn’t speak up. The strangeness doesn’t escape him; he knows he’s one of the loudest in the team, usually the most welcoming to new faces. 

He cites tiredness and a headache to explain his silence, ignoring the bubble of resentment that has made its way into his chest. 

He has no right to be disappointed.

Kyungsoo didn't owe him anything. 

The promise of the debt has long been forgotten—buried under sheet music and the demands of college. 

  
  
  
  
  


Chanyeol watches Kyungsoo fit in with the team like a missing puzzle piece.

Baekhyun coddles him, tells him about everyone and everything, even if Kyungsoo has only stayed in Japan for a year and has already encountered most of his teammates in the past. 

Kyungsoo tuts at his jokes. Baekhyun enjoys taking it as a challenge to make him laugh. 

Jongin makes sure to include him in conversations, even if Kyungsoo doesn’t need the extra help. 

They’re childhood friends, Jongin brags in the shower rooms, and his instagram is filled with them in cafes and playgrounds. 

Jongdae turns Kyungsoo into the team’s unofficial teddy bear. 

He’d backhugged him one time when there was a lull in training, arms wrapping around his neck as Joohyun explained the objectives for the next workout.

“What are you doing,” Kyungsoo had asked, barely surprised at the sudden skinship. 

Jongdae had shrugged. “Cuddles. Duh.” 

Kyungsoo shook him off, but the next time Jongdae did it, he only tapped his hands, and let Jongdae cling to him like a backpack. 

Whenever it rained and the cold that seeped into the water was too much for some of them to bear, they'd transform Kyungsoo into their personal heater, drumming their hands across Kyungso’s chest to the rhythm of the torrents outside. 

Kyungsoo melts into the team flawlessly. 

He never forgets his manners.

He doesn’t touch your feet in the circle-swims and overtakes you instead, and he passes you your water bottle when it’s too far to reach, and he stays for after-practice talks in the showers. 

He shares drills sometimes, things they’ve done in Japan at the pleading of his teammates— _it’s the same thing you guys do, I swear—_ and is quick to return praise. 

_It’s because everyone takes care of me,_ he’ll say, and it makes them love him even more, makes them want to wrap him up in aegyo even if they quickly learn he’s allergic to any implication of him being cute. 

Do Kyungsoo is perfect. 

And yet…

And yet. 

Chanyeol holds himself back from getting too close. 

Always at the edge of the conversation, just humming along. 

Their interactions, if possible, have gotten worse; more awkward than when they were actively being pitted against each other. 

Kyungsoo catches him sometimes, when Chanyeol can’t help but stare at his back. 

Chanyeol will hold his gaze for a second, questions electrifying the air between them, and then drop it just as quickly.

Do Kyungsoo is perfect—

—and Chanyeol doesn’t like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay chanyeol be like that then
> 
> [mimi u fucking bitch if ure reading this ilysm thank u for listening to me and entertaining all my rants and dots]


	2. set

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> definition of terms:  
>   
> target time: an objective/goal for a workout  
>   
> circle swim: where more than two people use a single lane. they manage this by using intervals (usually five seconds) between each swimmer to maintain proper distance.  
>   
> early start: where a swimmer starts too early before the proper signals. in competitions, this is equal to an automatic disqualification.  
>   
>   
> !! spacing between the paragraphs (there will be long ones) are consistent and intentional !!  
>   
> 

Kyungsoo, Chanyeol finds out, is a theater major. 

He doesn’t find out more than he is _reminded;_ that Kyungsoo is an actual student and not just his competition for the place of top swimmer in the team.

Baekhyun and Jongdae pull him out of the library, adamant about joining Jongin for lunch.

“Hurry _up,_ Chanyeol,” Jongdae says, “Jongin brought his cute friend today.”

“I was working on my portfolio,” Chanyeol pouts, but he lets Baekhyun drag him through the hallways. 

While he’s lucky that a radio station wants to hear his music at all, he also doesn’t want to starve, and he’d already skipped dinner and breakfast, eating notes and arrangements instead. 

The rumbling in his gut drops when he sees who the 'cute friend' is. 

“Kyungsoo?” Chanyeol digs his heels in. “Why is he here?” 

“The question,” Baekhyun is quick to block his path out the door, “my giant friend, is why shouldn’t he be?” 

“Besides, the both of you are fine,” Jongdae assures, sounding too fast, not giving Chanyeol a chance to dispute the words that are coming out of his mouth. “None of the tension.” 

Chanyeol frowns. “What tension?” 

“The sexual one,” Baekhyun says.

He quickly takes it back at the sight of Chanyeol’s glare. 

“There’s no tension."

Kyungsoo looks strange. 

Or maybe, Chanyeol thinks, it’s because he hasn’t seen him outside of his trunks at his barest, and a shirt and shorts, sometimes sweatpants, at his fully clothed. 

You were probably more likely to recognize your teammates in underwear rather than jeans; it was a part of being a swimmer, especially since college meant you weren’t going to see them much outside of a few classes, if any at all. 

But now, Kyungsoo almost looks like the boy he’d met a year ago. 

Black hoodie, jeans, and the very same headphones that were crushed under his would-be murderer’s wheels. 

_I hate you_ , Chanyeol says with his eyes. 

He’s across from Baekhyun, who looks every inch as thrilled as his legs act, kicking themselves under the table.

He subtly points to Kyungsoo—Chanyeol resists the urge to look over and peek, because the other boy is humming something and jumbling words together and it sounds like he’s making a song. 

_I love you too_ , Baekhyun winks. 

For the most part, Chanyeol isn’t too bothered. 

He eats lunch, nodding when needed, and if he ignores the way Baekhyun tricked him, he enjoys the company.

Jongin is clever and witty and whiny, and Kyungsoo is…

Preoccupied. 

Focused on whatever song he’s trying to write.

Silent.

Never mind that Chanyeol is beside him—he doesn’t even react when Baekhyun and Jongdae yip loud enough to be heard by everyone inside the cafeteria. 

“Kyungja,” Baekhyun says, addressing him for the first time since they got here, “have you heard about Seulgi?” 

Kyungsoo sets his notebook down on the table and sighs, looking resigned. And tired.

“What about Seulgi?” Kyungsoo yawns, words drooping against each other. 

“The bakery she’s putting up.”

Kyungsoo leans on Chanyeol’s shoulder—

Chanyeol’s brain short-circuits. 

“I like the concept,” Kyungsoo says, unaware of everyone staring at him like he’s grown a third head.

“She asked to come by the apartment for a taste-test, I can’t imagine why. I could’ve just called some bakers I know.” 

No one will help him. 

Jongin looks especially amused, trying to cover his mouth. Staying still, not making a sound—something clicks. 

Kyungsoo thinks Chanyeol is Jongin.

“Did you give her your cookie recipe?”

Jongdae brings out his phone. His hand is stable enough to take a picture, probably even record.

Chanyeol will kill them for this. In the future. But right now, he can’t separate anything from the fact that Do Kyungsoo is leaning on him.

Kyungsoo hums, digging them into a deeper grave when he hooks his arm around his.

Chanyeol can only watch when his fingers start tapping the back of his hand, a gesture he’s done with so many of their teammates.

Except him. 

He would have preferred it to stay that way. 

Chanyeol understands; he really does.

Skinship is something swimmers have capitalized to a whole other level. He’d do the same to Baekhyun, but right now, Baekhyun is trying not to fall over his seat; face red from trying not to breathe, and Chanyeol is trying to think of the least awkward way to alert Kyungsoo of his presence. 

“She doesn’t need it, but I appreciate her thinking I have decent baking skills. You guys know how much I prefer cooking right—” he slaps Chanyeol’s arm—“yah, Kim Jongin, what's gotten into you? Relax, I’m trying to cuddle— _”_

There.

He finally sees Chanyeol, flinches from him like a live wire. 

“When did you get here?” He flicks his gaze up and down, up and down. 

The world unfreezes. 

“Yesterday,” Chanyeol replies, sarcastic. “When do you _think_ I got here?” 

Kyungsoo stares at him for a second, and the electricity is back. On cue, Kyungsoo drops it, leans on Jongin instead, and acts like nothing out of the ordinary has happened. 

To him, probably. 

Just a small mistake on a run-of-the-mill day. 

Chanyeol doesn’t talk much, after that. 

  
  
  
  
  


There is a silent acknowledgment.

Kyungsoo is quickly rising to be the ace of the swim team.

A title, Chanyeol muses, that was set to belong to _him_.

  
  
  
  
  


Minho is back again.

“Better watch out for Kyungsoo, Chanyeol. He’s gonna get your top spot.” 

Seeing the jibe capable of doing more harm than good, Chanyeol starts to laugh it off, but Joohyun snags it.

“You hear that, Kyungsoo?” their coach calls out. 

Chanyeol remembers her pulling him aside to talk about his performance, how good it was working out, but how it was looking to plateau, as it usually did to some players. 

_Might get stale_ , she said, _but don’t worry about it too much. Maybe some competition will do you good._

Kyungsoo smirks against his towel. They're coming back from the shower rooms—his hair drips down the cloth on his neck. 

“Sounds like a challenge,” he says, almost nonchalant. Except—Chanyeol catches the bait in his voice. 

“Don’t be stupid.” 

“What is it, Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo’s tone sends a flicker of annoyance through him.

His sharp smile is something he’s never shown before, lazy and oh-so-full-of-himself—

“Scared of getting your ass handed to you?”

Chanyeol finds it. He takes one look at the gleam in Kyungsoo’s eyes, and can’t resist _pushing_.

“Just looking out for you, Kyungsoo,” he replies, falling into the game—

 _—if you don’t start it, I will—_

“—wouldn’t want to embarrass the newbie, after all.”

  
  
  
  
  


Something shifts. 

The swim team dynamics aren’t much of a stage show. Other team sports are much more intense, with their captain balls and skippers. 

But there is a new rivalry, solidified, hanging in the balance, serious enough to hold competition for what looks to be a long time, but ridiculous enough to play off any consequences that might stem from it. 

It doesn’t help that rivals are all they’ve been to each other—Chanyeol and Kyungsoo. 

_That’s not true_ , a small voice reasons, _you were almost friends once._

Chanyeol ignores it, like he ignores all the other things the small voice says when butterflies decide to invade his gut when Kyungsoo is involved. 

He ignores it when they say that Kyungsoo matched him well; that Chanyeol could act like he wanted when he was with him.

“Have at it, Park.” Kyungsoo flicks off figurative dust on his shoulder. 

Earlier, Chanyeol had done the same thing, when he’d beat Kyungsoo by a solid two seconds for their butterfly time trials. Kyungsoo had beat him by three for breaststroke. 

Chanyeol can’t bring himself to be upset; the results were obvious from the start. 

So instead of thinking of a comeback, he tips Kyungsoo just enough to have him teetering on the edge of the water, just enough for him to make a panicked face and cling onto the five-meter pole mark. 

“ _Y_ _a!_ ”

He’s breathless, laughing as Kyungsoo chases him around the pool. 

“Bet you can’t make it five seconds before your target time.” 

From the side, Chanyeol hears Baekhyun huff out a smile. “These two, really—”

“Bets are nothing if there isn’t anything to bet.” 

Kyungsoo’s eyes are trained on the analog clock, hand casual on the diving board, ready to push off.

15 seconds.

“If this is your way of saying I’ll beat you anyway, thanks, it means a lot.”

Four lanes over are guests from Busan, a team they haven’t swam with before, come under Joohyun’s invitation. 

That means they’re limited to four lanes, and with more than fifteen swimmers, they’ve settled into circle swims for their main set.

There is more chaos than usual, but Chanyeol is calm, mind already clicked into place.

Kyungsoo is set to go first, Chanyeol with five seconds of interval next.

Ten seconds.

Chanyeol sees Kyungsoo snort. “Trust you to be all bark and no bite.”

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol puts on his goggles, “it seems rude to have you walk into something you were going to lose anyway.” 

“Five seconds,” Jongin warns, but it’s more for show than anything. 

Chanyeol’s seen Kyungsoo get into start quickest of all of them. 

Three seconds, and Chanyeol reaches out to poke the space between Kyungsoo’s ribs. He watches Kyungsoo flinch and glare; the only two actions he’s allowed before the clock resets.

00:00. 

Chanyeol sticks his tongue out at him.

Kyungsoo snaps into the push-off, streamlining under the water with barely a ripple. 

The sequence is strangely endearing, when he and Kyungsoo make a habit of it. 

Chanyeol ignores the small voice that said whatever Chanyeol threw at him, Kyungsoo took, threw back just as hard. 

When they organize one-on-ones, Kyungsoo only smiles that special smile he gets before he pulls on his goggles.

By their fifth match, Chanyeol will have already known what it means.

_You ready to lose?_

Chanyeol will roll his eyes. _You wish._

And then Kyungsoo will dive an early start, and Chanyeol will yell foul before jumping in after him.

Sometimes Kyungsoo teases him—a hand waving towards a diving block, smug look on his face, “ladies first,” he'll say, or sometimes it’ll seem like Kyungsoo enjoys annoying the team as much as he does, and he taunts him until they’re racing to be the first one to finish jogging 10 laps or who makes it to the showers the fastest.

Kyungsoo’s name finds its way back beside his. 

And stays there. 

“ _A_ _gain_?” Chanyeol fake-gasps, the heat of the bodies around the bulletin board suffocating, even to him. “You really can’t get enough of me, can’t you?” 

Kyungsoo’s one hand has a grip on his towel, water bottle on the other. The team groans at the prospect of another comeback session between the both of them.

“Leave me then,” Kyungsoo says, “move to Class A—ah, that’s right, _you can’t_ , because you can’t kick for shit.”

“Must be hard,” Chanyeol doesn’t skip a beat, “resorting to lies just to cover up for how tiny you are. It’s okay, Kyungsoo. You know what they say. Shortcomings and all that.” 

Kyungsoo isn’t the correct definition of short in the slightest—standing at five foot eight, he’s tall enough to stand out at crowds.

But beside Chanyeol, it wouldn’t matter. 

“Weather okay up there, you fucking giraffe—”

“It’s cloudy with a hint of jealousy—”

Chanyeol ignores the voice that says it’s finally okay to bite, because Kyungsoo _bit back._

“Like what you see, Park?” 

Kyungsoo has that _insufferable_ tease in his voice again. Chanyeol doesn’t even need to look to know there’s a smug expression plastered on his face.

It’s cleaning day, and everyone, (the men’s team), has elected to go shirtless. 

The women’s team isn’t bothered at all; Chanyeol thinks it would be more effective to flirt in a suit than half-naked when it came to them, not like the stray students on the bleachers. 

They’ve been coming in droves recently, after Jongin uploaded that push-up competition between him and Kyungsoo. 

Kyungsoo had reached up, up, up, pulling the pool floaters, and Chanyeol was the one unlucky enough to be assigned to help him under the harsh rays of sun. 

He’d been staring at the strings—the floaters were a bitch to untangle—when his gaze had strayed to Kyungsoo’s middle. 

His body type isn’t particularly striking to Chanyeol. 

A lean figure, steady v-line on his hips making way for his abs, muscles noticeable on his broad shoulders.

The body you'd expect, when you clocked under twenty-seven seconds for fifty meters freestyle. 

Common enough in a swimmer’s world. 

His gaze may have strayed to Kyungsoo’s middle, but it had caught at Kyungsoo’s face _._

His strong eyebrows clashing with a delicate nose. Jawline so sharp it could cut, somehow working with plush lips and wide eyes.

Pretty. 

Do Kyungsoo is pretty. 

Chanyeol admits it. 

Chanyeol hums, bringing his eyes back down. “Just evaluating.” He ignores the pounding in his chest at having been caught _staring_ , of all things.

“Everything looks good, abs could use a bit more attention, though.”

Kyungsoo’s laugh is cool against his ears. “If it’s attention from you, sure, why not?” 

For someone that had the capacity to flirt with anyone to get his way, Chanyeol sure doesn’t know what to do with himself when Kyungsoo does it back. 

Baekhyun would laugh, Chanyeol thinks, if he was here. Jongin too.

But they’re not here. No one else to witness how Chanyeol just tells him to shut up.

Chanyeol pretends not to see the redness on the tips of Kyungsoo’s ears. Just like he pretends not to notice the heat on his face. 

Chanyeol ignores the voice that said he could push Kyungsoo’s buttons—

—could finally be _playful_ in the way he wanted—

—because they both knew how to set each other's back just as quickly.

He finds delight in annoying Kyungsoo anywhere and everywhere—they’re in the library, and it’s Chanyeol that sets the study session up.

“Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol says from a beanbag.

“Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo.” 

Kyungsoo’s pen twirls deftly around his fingers, movements mesmerizing if it weren’t for Chanyeol’s goal of doing everything he can to get a reaction out of him. 

Ignoring Chanyeol, it seems, has become Kyungsoo’s only way of coping.

“Soo,” Chanyeol tries.

There’s a beat. 

The pen stutters in its path between Kyungsoo’s thumb and forefinger, dropping to the table. 

“Don’t call me that.” Kyungsoo’s brow furrows.

He’s in a new hoodie this time, pink.

His hair is messy, falling across his face like it always is, lips tinted red from the strawberry slushie currently making wet marks on his papers.

“What,” Chanyeol rocks back, ”Soo?” 

Kyungsoo tries to hide it, but the downward pull of his mouth is stark against the warm overhead lamps of the library.

“ _Soo_ ,” Chanyeol starts, already grinning, “Soo, Soo. Soo. _Kyungsoo_. Kyungsoo. Soo. Why won’t you answer me? Soo. Just once, please? Soo. Soo. _Soo_. _Kyung_ —mmph—”

Jongdae shakes his head at them, choosing to continue playing with a sleeping Baekhyun’s hair. 

Jongin wordlessly hands Kyungsoo a new cushion for his feet. 

“Yeol.”

The conversation stops, abrupt.

They’re in the ready bench—time trials have come again, its familiarity stark against the strangeness of Kyungsoo’s words. 

Chanyeol guesses that it’s because Kyungsoo wasn’t too goofy around them, but this is exactly his brand.

Chanyeol isn’t the least bit fazed. A nickname hardly scratched the surface. 

He pulls on the most innocent look he can, eyes flashing a challenge when he leans forward.

He’s _close_ , so close he can see the tips of Kyungsoo's lashes—

“Yes, Soo?” 

The challenge shines back in Kyungsoo’s eyes.

It always does. 

“Might want to watch yourself.” Kyungsoo trains that intense stare on him, and the butterflies inside Chanyeol flounder—

—they're trapped. 

“And why is that,” Chanyeol tries to say, but Joohyun’s whistle pierces through the air. 

“ _Park!"_ she shouts, _"Do! Stop flirting! 100 meters freestyle, now!”_

Chanyeol pulls back, and he can’t even focus enough to see the leg that Kyungsoo trips him with, the sneaky little shit—

He stumbles, righting his balance eventually, but not before a pleased expression settles across Kyungsoo's face.

“Just a little warning,” Kyungsoo pats his back as he passes by, syllables blending together in his effort to not laugh. “Tall people always seem to get into so many accidents, hm?” 

His eyes twinkle, smile looking especially different.

Kyungsoo calls for him to hurry up, and they answer using the nicknames they’ve given each other, _Soo_ and _Yeol_ , blending and twisting, like they came in a pair. 

Chanyeol ignores that too. 

It's winter when Chanyeol jolts to see Kyungsoo’s grandmother, the one that had taken his face in his hands, in a seat two tables from where they’re settled.

They’re in their coats, enjoying tteokbokki in the shops stationed outside the university.

Like the other students huddled around the tables, they’ve come to escape the cold with warm food and even warmer moments.

Kyungsoo doesn’t see her, but Chanyeol does.

She gives a little wave before getting up and out.

Minutes later, there are fresh tubs of tteokbokki in front of them. 

“Excuse me,” Jongin says, looking up from the video he and Kyungsoo were watching, “we didn’t order this.” 

“The lady in the coat bought them for you,” the waitress replies—Dahyun. Her grandmother ran the shop, but when she wasn’t working part-time, she was a fashion major, just like Choi Mina.

She always looked out for Chanyeol and his friends, adding extra sauce or soju to their orders. 

“Said you’re doing a great job.” 

Two spring seasons after Chanyeol breaks his bike, Do Kyungsoo becomes his friend. 

Because they _are_ now—Kyungsoo becomes the one Chanyeol goes to for music, or when he feels like he’s too much, their taunts and constant baiting a reprieve to the careful image Chanyeol has pressured himself into being. 

He finds that they aren't too different. 

At some point, Kyungsoo promises to go with him on a trip to Japan. They read the same mangas and comics, like the same movies (although Kyungsoo is much more enthusiastic than he is), and like the same shows. 

It’s comfortable—easy—talking to him.

That’s all. 

  
  
  


That’s all. 

  
  
  


The world doesn’t let them forget that they’re rivals. Bomin has gone, graduated with a party at some other pool, and the team captain position is up for the taking. 

Which meant a different level of competition between them—unsaid and heavy. 

When pre-meet season comes, there is a charge in the air. 

“All of you know how this works,” Joohyun says, even if all of them knew she was just talking to Chanyeol and Kyungsoo.

“I’ll be watching everyone closely.”

“This is going to be amazing.” Baekhyun plops down on his bed. It’s a free night out, filled with popcorn and fluffy blankets and his best friend.

“You and Kyungsoo are the most entertaining things to happen to the team.” 

Chanyeol huffs from where he’s positioned on the makeshift sofa. “Must be nice treating me like a show monkey.” 

“C’mon, Chanyeollie." Baekhyun throws a piece of popcorn at him. "We don’t force you guys into anything. The entertainment writes itself.” 

“Besides,” Baekhyun brings his head down Chanyeol’s lap. He’s glowing—mostly Jongdae’s doing. The team had been teasing them nonstop about it.

“You’ve been having that _tension-_ tension recently.”

Chanyeol frowns. “We have _not._ ”

Even if he feels like what Baekhyun says is true. 

Despite laughing about a lot of things, he and Kyungsoo took their rivalry almost seriously.

The team captain was the ace. The one juniors looked at for support, and advice, and guidance.

It was in Chanyeol’s nature to _share_ all kinds of things; stories and jokes and songs, feelings and time and effort.

So if there was a chance he’d be able to share whatever he could and be someone their juniors looked up to, why not? 

For the sake of his pride, he tries to be passionate about it. 

Tries to bring himself to be angry whenever Kyungsoo beats him in a race, or at least sulky when someone asks about some techniques on Kyungsoo instead of him. 

But for the most part, he fails. 

It would be easier, Chanyeol thinks, if Kyungsoo were an asshole.

A rich, stuck up asshole, who has never experienced hardship in his life and looked down on Chanyeol and any other person poorer than he was. 

Chanyeol would be better off if Kyungsoo didn’t care what the consequences of his actions would be, and thought that waving a black card in front of your face would be enough of an apology. 

But Kyungsoo isn’t like that. 

Least of all to him. 

He comforts the team after races; has been since day one, and he brings food to parties, arranges team building nights. 

He helps Chanyeol during drills, tapping his shoulder when he can’t get something right and Joohyun is silent and stewing and confused. 

“No dolphin kicks,” he’ll say, quietly, almost as if he doesn’t want the others to hear about how Chanyeol has been screwing them over with additional sets, “just push-offs. You’re the one she keeps seeing messing it up.”

Kyungsoo listens to him; values his opinion.

Even if he knows it isn't intentional, to have someone see him like that is surprisingly hard, when everyone sees you as goofy and a mere source of laughter; just someone to set the mood. 

Like when it was time to decide what they were going to do for the university’s annual club fair. 

“A playground,” he’d said, remembering how kids loved to play in the water. His input had gone unnoticed, everyone else laughing at it like it was a joke. 

Like everything that came out of his mouth was a joke.

But after the meeting, he’d seen Kyungsoo’s notes, tucked between some other student’s books. 

It happened enough times that Chanyeol had thought nothing of it, so he simply confirmed if it wasn’t someone else’s, and started walking to the entrance, where the others were. 

The notebook was open, flipped to the latest page.

In Kyungsoo’s neat handwriting was _playground_ , and right next to it was a list:

 _1)_ _ask Joohyun for permission_

 _2) discuss terms and probable profit._

Kyungsoo had taken the notebook from his hands. “I was looking for this,” he said, ever the secretary. 

Chanyeol had to pretend he didn’t see it; had to act like Kyungsoo taking him seriously, (even if he ignored him most of the time), didn’t send something blooming in his chest. 

And so Chanyeol is left with no choice but to do it back. 

No choice but to notice how Kyungsoo’s anxiety presented itself in his pen; twisting and turning in the space between his fingers.

He's gotten the habit of guarding the other's movements, turning to his finger tricks when Kyungsoo is silent and emotionless. 

He’s left with no choice but to defend Kyungsoo when swim meets get ugly and there is the occasional newbie that had the gall to badmouth his name, right beside Chanyeol’s. 

“You’d be lucky to muster enough brain cells to get where he is,” Chanyeol will say, and he’ll enjoy the stammered apologies that would come later. 

Kyungsoo will look at him when he goes back to the bleachers, wide eyes scrutinizing.

Chanyeol will shrug.

He’ll say he isn’t in the business of letting teammates be disrespected. 

He’s left with no choice but to keep him company on nights when he’d walk home—

“Rich people are strange,” he’d say, placing his interlocked hands behind his head as they make their way over to the train station. “Why don’t you just call a taxi?” 

Kyungsoo only rolls his eyes, looking like he did everytime Chanyeol brought up his status. “I’m not rich, Yeol. How many times should I say it?” 

There is a different kind of bonding, Chanyeol thinks, when you’re both bone-deep in exhaustion and choose to stick to your routine anyway.

Summer, spring, fall, winter, it didn’t matter. It became a habit neither of them wanted to let go, if only for the added company. 

“Hey, treat me to takoyaki,” Chanyeol will say instead, attention diverted, and Kyungsoo will laugh, let himself be pulled along. 

And so Chanyeol wishes, oh so much, that Do Kyungsoo was easier to hate. 

“There’s no tension,” he repeats now, taking Baekhyun’s hair and playing with it. “It’s just...things have been more intense, that’s all.” 

Baekhyun hums. “Can’t you guys just fuck already?” 

Chanyeol sighs and slaps the side of Baekhyun’s head. “That’s so dumb, Baek. That joke is like, a year old. Let it go.”

It was their fault, anyway.

Chanyeol has convinced himself one too many times that their teasing and taunting would eventually lead to flirting. 

It has, at some point—times when Chanyeol’s breath would be taken away, because Do Kyungsoo is so much better at it than he is, statements hitting where they needed to, winks a different kind of effective.

The attention Kyungsoo gives him isn't lost on Chanyeol—moments when he'd catch the smaller boy's eyes tracking where he went, or when he'd sidle up next to him on purpose, despite his complaints of Chanyeol being too loud. 

It was natural.

A part of the dynamic they had. 

Nothing else. 

Baekhyun sits up and pretends to pout, rubbing the spot where Chanyeol’s fingers landed. 

“Give me some credit! I feel like one of these days you’re both gonna—” he holds an imaginary ball in his hands, and mimics the sound of a volcano eruption. 

Chanyeol hushes him, but he worries about Baekhyun being right. 

Just because Kyungsoo was like that didn’t mean they didn’t argue for real. 

Times when Kyungsoo hit a nerve on days when Chanyeol was especially stressed, or times when Chanyeol pushed too far and insulted Kyungsoo for a status he didn’t ask for, with words he didn’t mean. 

They’d just pat each other’s backs after, but it's obviously not enough. 

Baekhyun continues the volcano-eruption sounds until Chanyeol shoves a pillow in his face. 

  
  


Baekhyun is right. 

“Just do the goddamn drill already.” Kyungsoo's chest is heaving, eyebrows furrowed together in annoyance.

Usually, Chanyeol doesn’t mind the look in Kyungsoo’s eyes. The comment is supposed to be routine, familiar, _safe_. 

“I _am,”_ Chanyeol bites out, running a hand through his hair. 

This time, it seems, is different.

Unlike routine, Kyungsoo’s tone is a little too sharp, a little too cutting. It’s the _third_ set they’ve repeated because of him, and his guilt at dragging his teammates into a heavier workout than necessary is fuel to Kyungsoo’s fire.

A muscle twitches in Kyungsoo’s jaw. “Do it _properly_.”

“What did you think I was doing?“ Chanyeol snaps. He watches water drip down from Kyungsoo’s lashes, throwing his glare right back at him. 

“Maybe if you stopped trying to get ahead of me all the time,” Kyungsoo grits out, “and focus on your shit technique—“

“Don’t flatter yourself, _“_ Chanyeol cuts him off. His lips purse into a tight line when he sees Kyungsoo roll his eyes.

Of course it was Kyungsoo. Only Kyungsoo could call him out like this. 

He’s vaguely aware of the attention on him, of how the others are a healthy meter away from the both of them. 

“Just because you’re a hotshot doesn’t mean everybody wants to beat you—“

“I didn’t say everybody,” Kyungsoo fires back, “I said _you_ —“

“And your technique is so perfect? Focus on _yourself—_ ” 

“ _That is enough_ ,” Joohyun’s voice cuts through the air. The both of them flinch, their coach’s anger feeling like a bucket of ice against their fire. 

Joohyun looms down on them, arms crossed. “Both of you. Out of the pool.” When they don’t move, she adds, “ _now._ ”

Kyungsoo sends a sharp look his way before pushing himself up in one smooth motion. Chanyeol follows, his gaze burning holes into Kyungsoo’s back.

They end up in the bleachers, Joohyun bearing down on them while they fix their eyes on anywhere but her.

“When I accepted the both of you into this team, I expected college students,” Joohyun grits out between clenched teeth, “ _not children I needed to babysit_.” 

“Fix this,” she continues, when they don’t answer, tapping her clipboard. “I won’t have my star swimmers disturbing training, especially not with pre-meet season.” 

Joohyun only lets them go when the both of them stop looking like they were going to come for each other’s throats. 

The rest of the practice session is void of any more arguments, but Chanyeol knows that the glares they send each other are all they need.

  
  
  
The locker rooms look especially cozy tonight. 

Or maybe it’s just the tiredness settling down Chanyeol’s bones. He might just sleep like this, under the harsh shine of the lights and cold metal running down his back. 

Joohyun had Kyungsoo and Chanyeol do the set of drills they’d fought over until it was perfect.

When Kyungsoo indignantly asked why he had to be there, Joohyun said that since Kyungsoo believed _he_ was the reason for Chanyeol’s sloppiness, he deserved to suffer with him.

“They’re going to close soon,” a voice says, slowly pulling him out of his haze, “get up and get out.”

Chanyeol doesn’t even bother to look, he knows it’s Kyungsoo. They were probably the only ones left, apart from the cleaning staff. 

“Soo.” Chanyeol's muscles are stiff and uncooperative. “Leave me alone. You were an asshole today. Can’t you be consistent and act like it?” 

“Yeol,” Kyungsoo says, and Chanyeol almost smiles at how automatic it sounds, before he remembers last-second that they just fought, “I swear to god, I don’t want to do this again.”

“Cute that you think I have the energy to do it again,” Chanyeol says, even if there’s a small flame to his words. “I'll take it as a compliment. Get lost, rich boy. Leave me to kill my neck sleeping here. _In peace._ ” 

He hears Kyungsoo huff, and then there are fingers against Chanyeol’s back, gentle and firm.

Chanyeol is too surprised to resist, and too sleepy to fully cooperate. 

Chanyeol rests his head on Kyungsoo’s shoulder, just to irk him.

“Get up.” Kyungsoo doesn't show much of a reaction other than a hitch in his voice. “I’m treating you to dinner.”

He taps his hands on Chanyeol’s other shoulder, just like how he does with everyone else. 

“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo says, “Yeol. Come on, don’t be stubborn.” 

Chanyeol sighs, the sound bouncing off the walls. “Why are you doing this,” he asks, almost laughing at Kyungsoo’s breath hitching when he leans further into his shoulder.

Almost nuzzling.

Just to irk him. 

Definitely. 

“Because I owe you,” Kyungsoo says, suddenly soft.

The words make him stir. Chanyeol is surprised he can remember them at all.

“And dinner is the only thing you’ve given me. To clear my debt. I still think my life is—”

“Worth more than an excuse to ask you out on a date,” Chanyeol finishes for him, snapping to attention. “You remember.”

Kyungsoo smiles a different smile, one that Chanyeol is unfamiliar with. 

“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo says, eyes earnest as his chopsticks twist and turn in the space between his fingers.

The restaurant they’re in is simple; plastic chairs and clean grills littered below walls filled with obscure athletes.

“I shouldn’t have embarrassed you like that. I—it’s not an excuse, but I’ve been feeling a bit sick recently. I just wanted to fuck off traning.”

Chanyeol looks at him; noting the lines under his eyes. Now that he squints, he can see the paleness of his hands; the light sheen of sweat on his skin. 

“We shouldn’t have come here then,” he frowns.

Worry, strong and sudden, courses through him. He’s only made aware of his arm reaching over when Kyungsoo gently slaps his hand away. 

“I’m fine,” he says, clipped. “Let me apologize properly.”

Chanyeol apologizes too; for not understanding and making things worse. 

It was foolish to think that the pats to the back, quick _sorry_ s whispered fleetingly, were going to achieve anything. 

The problem was that they didn’t work like that. Their fights demanded a different kind of vulnerability— _honesty._

They couldn’t do whatever they were doing without knowing, deep down, what the other felt about it—and they could guess right most of the time, because, essentially, they were different halves to the same whole _._

Chanyeol wonders, between bites of cold jajangmyeon, if it’s something to worry about. 

  
  
“Your debt’s still not paid."

They’re walking back to their dorms, and the cool wind is a reprieve to the earlier waves of summer heat.

People pass them by, hurrying home at the promise of rain in the air, breezing through the trees. 

“You said dinner,” Kyungsoo says from beside him. “It’s been, what, two years? But I’m sure you said dinner and nothing else.”

“Because I _couldn’t_ say anything else,” Chanyeol remembers, avoiding a puddle. “Your number didn’t exist. The one you gave me. Nobody knew where you were. You disappeared.”

Kyungsoo’s brows lower, eyes squinting behind his black-framed specs. “Assholes,” he mutters. “I should’ve known.” 

“What,” Chanyeol asks, “me?” 

He can’t help it; he’s reminded of the time they met. Spring in contrast to this summer night, but it didn’t matter. 

“They said they gave you my number. My new one.” Kyungsoo's voice has taken on that quiet lilt. “I waited, when I was in Japan. It was all I could do—you had my number, but I didn’t have yours.

“It’s a bit stupid, but I was under a Korean-only school, and my story over there started with you. They'd ask a lot, _what happened to the one that saved your life then_ , and I'd always answer how I didn't know, how I was waiting for a text. So whenever I was out, I’d expect your messages. Not Jongin’s. Not my brother’s. Yours.”

Kyungsoo shakes his head. His smile turns out more like a grimace, almost regretful. 

“And then,” Kyungsoo shrugs, turning his gaze onto the cars on the street, “one day turned into a week, and then a month, and then a year. I stopped waiting. I just assumed you forgot about me.”

The butterflies inside his gut tug, down, down, down.

Would they have been any different—would _he_ have been any different—if he’d met Kyungsoo earlier? 

“I did,” Chanyeol confesses. “Forget about you. It was easier to think you were a rich brat than to worry about where you went.” 

They turn a corner and a 7/11 comes into view, as if to mock him. The clues slide into place. “That’s why you didn’t say anything. That’s why you avoided me.”

That time feels far away; the few weeks they’d skirted around each other like they’d get burned through the simplest touch of genuine friendship.

Kyungsoo almost stumbles when they hit the corner. Chanyeol’s hand settles across Kyungsoo’s waist—if Chanyeol concentrates hard enough, he can imagine the exact scene they were in two years ago. 

“I—“ Kyungsoo rights himself, “Yeah. I wanted to talk to you the first time I came here, but—I don’t know. Seemed like you didn’t like me.” 

_That’s not true,_ Chanyeol wants to protest. _I don’t want to end tonight with me saying I didn’t like you._

But— “You’re not wrong," Chanyeol says, voice small. "I resented you for ghosting me. It’s what it looked like. Whatever, it’s fucked up, I’m sorry.”

Kyungsoo for the most part, seems relieved. His eyes look up at him, and Chanyeol almost thinks his gaze means something else.

“I’m glad you told me. I’m sorry too," Kyungsoo says. “For ghosting you.” 

All the dorms, housing for students of the university, are much of the same, but the nicer ones are built more like hotels.

Their lobbies, sized like domestic living rooms, have space for one refrigerator and some couches before they end up in the singular staircase going up. 

Chanyeol is a step down from the entrance, greetings said, friendship repaired, when he hears it—

"Yeol." 

Kyungsoo’s voice is weak. Chanyeol turns to see him clutching his wrist.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a great team captain. I know you know, but—I don’t mean the things I say when I insult you.” 

_Of course I know_ , Chanyeol wants to reach out. _Do you know that it’s the same for me too?_

But there are butterflies stuck in his throat. 

“You carry the team on your shoulders,” Kyungsoo continues, “and the juniors look up to you more than me. They’ve known you for longer, so I guess it makes sense. I know we do those bets about who’s faster and stronger and all that, but.”

Kyungsoo closes his eyes, seems to flounder for a moment. He’s leaning on the doorway, and there’s a beat before he speaks again. 

“You act like you still have something to prove. You don’t. You’re amazing. I’m rambling, I don’t know, it seems like this team captain thing is more important to you than it is to me? So don’t—I don’t want you to worry. Okay? You’re going to have it, I promise.”

There isn’t anything he can do about the hurricane inside him; losing speed and picking back up again, tossing his feelings around all at once. 

Chanyeol can only nod. “Thank you,” he manages. 

_I’m sorry I’m being stupid right now,_ he wants to say, wants to shout between the summer drafts that ruffle Kyungsoo’s hair, _but you don’t know how much that means to me. I hope you hear it anyway._

Maybe Kyungsoo sees the struggle in his face. "You're still a loser, though."

Almost like an afterthought. A reflex. 

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, has no choice but to smile right after. "The way you cover up how soft you are for me makes you look stupid." 

"Shut up and go away," Kyungsoo waves him goodnight, like he didn’t just reassure Chanyeol of insecurities he’d been carrying around for the past six months.

Like it was normal. 

_I do,_ Kyungsoo’s eyes seem to say, _I know._

The butterflies relinquish their hold, but by then, Chanyeol is opening the door to his own rooms, a note and cold noodles from Baekhyun greeting him. 

_Don’t wait up. Stayed over at Jongdae’s._

He refuses to admit that Kyungsoo’s words keep him up at night; refuses to admit that they change the way he sees him.

Chanyeol will admit though, that they scare him.

  
  
  


The first day of Kyungsoo not attending training, Joohyun is perplexed. 

Kyungsoo rarely misses training, much less skipped it without an explanation. 

The session goes on. Chanyeol’s focus is scattered; faltering. 

The second day, a bead of worry lodges itself in Chanyeol’s chest. They try finding him; he hasn’t come to his classes either. 

Jongin doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t return Chanyeol’s texts. Kyungsoo already doesn’t reply much, so their KKT chatroom is useless. 

The third day, they give up. 

“It’s not anything new,” Jongin reassures them. “He’ll turn up eventually.” 

Chanyeol narrows his eyes at him. They don’t agree, but by virtue of being the best friend, Jongin wins. 

Joohyun doesn’t ask for Kyungsoo. 

Baekhyun and Jongdae go on dates that the both of them refuse to call dates, and Jongin has “things to do”. 

Chanyeol calls for Choi Mina. 

For the second time since Chanyeol breaks his bike, Do Kyungsoo disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> headcanons that I think are important: 
> 
> KSOO: breaststroker (based on the one vid we have of him actually swimming)
> 
> PCY: butteryfly-er (based on his insta story [technique very bad, but I think he's improved a lot]) 
> 
> also!! technically, Kyungsoo is the stronger swimmer—but because of Chanyeol's height, it doesn't seem too obvious to other people. 
> 
> Chanyeol will never shut up about it. Kyungsoo will always roll his eyes at him—because that shit doesn't hit him as hard as it does Chanyeol (also bc he's too whipped to rain on smirking!yeol's parade)


	3. dive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> definition of terms: 
> 
> power medley: a technique used by teams to garner golds; they lump together their strongest swimmers in one relay team, usually to go against other power medleys as well.
> 
> anchor: the last swimmer in a relay. because of the crucial nature of their position, they tend to be the strongest; they have to be able to catch up to any gaps made by the other team, overtake them, and finish strong.
> 
> !! spacing between the paragraphs (there will be long ones) are consistent and intentional !!

Chanyeol has a problem. 

The butterflies in his gut have gotten louder and louder, more and more unavoidable. 

In all the wrong ways. 

They refuse to call out for Choi Mina, which doesn't make sense—Mina is beautiful and delicate and charming. 

They refuse to flutter at the sight of her in a lacy top and nice pants. 

They don’t budge when they hold hands or share churros or play games during their amusement park date, and Chanyeol has to fake his excitement when Mina asks for a goodnight kiss. 

“On the cheeks,” she reprimands, when Chanyeol leans in. 

“Thank you for tonight.” His lips land somewhere on her cheekbone. The kiss is wet, and tastes a bit like makeup. 

“Chanyeol,” Mina calls out, when he’s halfway outside their gate. Chanyeol remembers why he’d fallen for her in the first place—it was her eyes. 

A different set of eyes flashes in his mind, wide and sudden and unwelcome.

“You wanna talk about him?” Mina asks, voice sparkling and clear. “My parents are out. I need someone to hear me pine over Chaeyoung.” 

There is a small clinic, past Mina’s house.

It’s common enough to see; metal gates and an automated doorbell system. White walls under controlled strains of ivy; the place surrounded by lights. 

What’s uncommon to see, however, is college kids visiting the place at 9 pm. 

Jongin is dressed from class; in casual jeans paired with a thin turtleneck. His earphones hang from his hands; cords wrapping around his fingers as he bunches them together and shoves them in his pocket.

He doesn’t see Chanyeol. 

The younger boy hurries over to the gate, knocking on the door before he’s let in with a hushed greeting. 

Chanyeol takes out his phone and cancels his taxi, fiddling with the bracelet Mina had given him. 

"A gift for tonight," she'd said, small and fluttering. "It's a friendship bracelet." 

Mina liked Chaeyoung, she said, and thought that if she went on a date with Chanyeol, it would distract her enough from remembering Chaeyoung drifting away from her once she’d met Dahyun. 

Chanyeol had laughed. Told her about Kyungsoo, that they were the same.

Under the lone beams of a streetlight, Chanyeol misses her company. Maybe she could have told him to save his time and go home. 

But Jongin was there for Kyungsoo. He’s almost sure of it. 

The distant rumble of thunder doesn’t worry him too much. 

Chanyeol is jolted from sleep when there’s a tap on his shoulder. 

There’s a slash of red lipstick, perfect and dark.

“Wake up,” Kyungsoo’s grandmother says. "Silly boy. What are you doing, sleeping here?”

The gates open, the creaking of its joints harsh against Chanyeol’s ears. 

“ _You’re coming back, then?”_

A deep voice answers. “ _Of course, Nini. I wouldn’t have done all that just to lose to them.”_

_“Good. I think Chanyeol-hyung’s about to corner me.”_

Chanyeol stands up, dusting off his shirt. He regrets not opening his phone, because he definitely should have recorded Jongin flying back in surprise. 

_“Jesus fuck_ ,” Jongin is clutching his chest, breathing like he’s seen a ghost. Close enough, Chanyeol thinks. He has to cover his mouth to keep from laughing at him. 

As if on cue, a car pulls up in front of them. Before he gets inside, Jongin points to the gate, and then to Chanyeol. 

“I’m going home. I don’t care how you’re here. I am _tired_ of the heart attacks from the both of you. I’ve reached my quota. Good luck."

“Chanyeol.” Kyungsoo watches the car pull away. He’s in sweatpants, his loose white shirt dipping down to reveal his collarbones. 

“Hi. What brings you here?” 

Kyungsoo tells him about his parent’s plans to send him back to Japan.

"I couldn't stop looking for every possible loophole," he says, looking down on the fingers. Chanyeol offers his hand, and Kyungsoo doesn't even hesitate to start tapping against it.

He was already running himself ragged with training, and he was using all the extra hours he had to find a way for him to stay in Korea.

The day they’d made up, everything was settled, assets and liabilities concrete, his title as _heir_ renounced. 

Jongin had pleaded for him to take a break. It marked his fourth day without proper sleep and food. 

Chanyeol pieces everything together just as guilt, unbidden, crawls around his skin.

The stumbling, the weak voice, the dizziness. He should have known.

 _I’ve been feeling sick recently._

Kyungsoo tells him that not three seconds after Jongin had opened the door to their dorms, he’d collapsed—spent two days in and out of consciousness with an IV drip down his arm. 

“I wanted to come back as soon as possible,” Kyungsoo says, looking up at the stars, “but Jongin threatened me too much. Said it wouldn’t matter that I got admitted if I was going to drop from exhaustion again. He’d told Joohyun too. I asked him not to tell you guys.” 

Chanyeol pouts. “Why not?” 

“I’m going to get out of here anyway. Probably the day after tomorrow, maybe sooner if I can bribe the nurses.”

“Do all rich people have the impulse to bribe?” Chanyeol lets the edge seep into his voice, the code they used for their teasing. “Would you bribe dogs if it hit you hard enough?” 

For the first time that night, Kyungsoo smiles. A real one; crinkling his eyes and pulling his lips into a heart.

“Shut up,” he hits Chanyeol in the arm. “How’s training been?” 

“A bitch.” 

“So the same as always?”

The words are out of Chanyeol’s mouth before he can stop them.

“It’s not the same without you.” 

There’s a beat before Kyungsoo speaks, just the promise of rain and the cut of cold between them.

“Aw,” Kyungsoo mocks. Chanyeol almost thinks his cheeks are tinted red. “That’s pretty sweet, Chanyeol. Miss me much?” 

“You're making me regret it.” 

The night, Chanyeol decides, is a good backdrop against their laughter. 

It goes like this. 

Training has just finished, and Chanyeol is picking his gear up from beside the diving boards. 

Chanyeol feels playful hands push into his back, tipping him over, and his first instinct is to grab at Kyungsoo’s arms. 

He doesn’t know how he automatically assumes they’re Kyungsoo’s, but at this point, when are they not— 

Chanyeol watches Kyungsoo’s eyes widen, laugh turning into a half-panicked shout, body twisting in an effort to resist Chanyeol’s momentum. 

With Chanyeol’s grip around his wrists, they’re bound to plunge into the pool together if he doesn’t haul the both of them up. 

“Let me go, asshole!” 

Kyungsoo can’t even muster enough seriousness to sound threatening. 

Chanyeol can’t help it; Kyungsoo’s energy is getting him to laugh too, and his body is shaking to help Kyungsoo pull the both of them back into a safer angle. 

“If I’m falling,” Chanyeol manages, the words tangling together with mirth, “you’re falling with me—“

“Fall together,” an exasperated voice says, and Baekhyun promptly shoves the both of them into the water. 

Later, as Chanyeol fixes his gear into his locker, the scene replays itself, over and over. 

Chanyeol recognizes this feeling—no, finally admits it—because if he was being honest with himself, he knew that it started a long time ago.

He tries to tell himself that it isn’t a big deal. 

Just like how it was with Junmyeon, or Mina. 

Not anything to worry about, nothing at all—only, the words fall short when the flowers rage again, tired of being ignored, a spring garden inside him, more than they ever have for anyone else.

They hold on to everything—Kyungsoo’s smile, and his words, how he always looked out for everyone, and his powerful strokes, the way he glided through the water, his _abs_ — 

“Shit,” Chanyeol whispers as he sinks down on the bench, a hand over his mouth. 

The butterflies inside him don’t need to stir anything up; they rest, smug and content, on the branches of whatever _things_ that were blossoming around his heart. 

“Shit.” 

_Fall together_. 

Baekhyun was only half-right. 

Baekhyun sends him Doyoung’s instagram post. 

Chanyeol had liked it minutes ago, fingers double-tapping on instinct.

The picture is nice—Kyungsoo is in a pullover, chopsticks resting neatly against a plate of sushi. He looks cute, if Chanyeol allowed himself to say it. 

He went on a date.

With their senior. 

Which is fine.

Totally fine. 

But he ends up scowling at the screen filled with Baekhyun’s consequent teasing.

_bbhyun: someone’s jealousss_

_pcy92: shut up_

_bbhyun: come over, you can talk to me about it_

_bbhyun: you’ve been moping too much_

_bbhyun: and i’ve been avoiding best friend duties for too long_

_pcy92: u just want to rant about jongdae_

_bbhyun: and u just want to pine over kyungsoo_

_bbhyun: so whats ur point_

_pcy92: …………_

_pcy92: fine_

_pcy92: u want shooting star or cookies and cream?_

_bbhyun: shooting star <3 _

_pcy92: i hate u so much_

_bbhyun: <3 <3 <3 _

Baekhyun’s apartment is not far from the university. 

His parents had been adamant about getting him one, even roping Chanyeol into convincing him, but Baekhyun had been more firm in wanting to live in the dorms. 

In the end, it was Chanyeol that had suggested their schedule: Baekhyun would go to the apartment on weekends, and stay at the dorms on weekdays. 

His apartment is much like every other college student’s after finals: pizza boxes shoved haphazard inside garbage bins, papers strewn about. 

He talks about Kyungsoo, just like he did with Mina. He waxes poetic about him, his eyes and his laugh. He pouts about his fingers and pen tricks, sulks about how Doyoung had access to his notifications now. 

“I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again,” Baekhyun plops on their couch when they’ve finally settled down, “just fuck already.”

Chanyeol throws a receipt at him. “You’re impossible,” he chastises, “is everything fucking to you?”

“You’re not getting it, Chanyeollie,” Baekhyun grabs the ice cream from the counter. “I mean talk things out. Confess. _Then_ fuck.”

“Then just say talk!”

“Where would be the fun in that?” 

“Baek,” Chanyeol whines, resting his head on the cushions, which gives him a good view of the tabletop. 

The butterflies inside him scratch and scrape. “Why am I like this?” 

“Because you like him, god, you’re so _whipped_ ,” Baekhyun says in between mouthfuls of ice cream. “It’s only a matter of time.” 

He’s looking at Chanyeol the same way he did whenever Chanyeol talked about the people he liked—fond, with a mix of obligatory ridicule and pining. 

“If you guys could hurry it up, that’d be great. Me and Jongin have this bet, and I’m not looking to hand over my limited edition gaming set-up—”

“You’re making it worse.” Chanyeol buries his face in his hands. “Coming here was a bad idea. Let’s just talk about Jongdae. Have you asked him out yet?”

Baekhyun looks at him, long and judging. 

“All I’m saying is Kyungsoo texted Jongin to pick him up at some fancy restaurant, said he looked frustrated as all hell.”

Chanyeol pretends not to have heard; pretends that he doesn’t feel a surge of satisfaction at the idea of Kyungsoo not having a good time with someone that wasn’t him. 

So Chanyeol pretends, as much as he can, and stays silent. 

With a sigh, Baekhyun launches into his new Jongdae episode.

It’s nothing Chanyeol hasn’t heard before; Jongdae’s kitty cat smile and the way he loved to hug Baekhyun from behind and how kind and nice and loud he was.

Chanyeol leans on Baekhyun’s shoulder, letting his best friend rattle on and responding when necessary, enjoying the warmth.

Two hours into their marvel movie, Jongdae decides to barge in, stopping midway when he sees Chanyeol curled up on Baekhyun’s lap.

Baekhyun can’t move fast enough.

“That’s my cue,” Chanyeol says from where he’s been dropped on the floor, wiping out the sleepiness from his eyes.

He checks the clock—only 6:34 pm.

“Hi Jongdae,” Chanyeol yawns, patting the petrified swimmer on the back. Jongdae is still frozen, watching Baekyun fumble in an attempt to look presentable.

“Bye Jongdae,” he says, stepping out. Those two could be a real mess when they wanted. “He’s your problem now.”

The cold night air hits his face, sending shivers down his back.

He adored the monsoon season—it wasn’t like winter where if you stood out too long in the cold, you’d die.

Summer cold was a comforting kind of cold. 

His phone beeps, and it’s a message from Kyungsoo. 

He’s sent a song Chanyeol hasn’t encountered before.

_dksoo: thought you might like this_

Chanyeol smiles despite himself. 

The notes are light and trailing, wrapping themselves around his ears, talking about grey skies and slow walks and taking things one at a time. 

He still has a long way to go when it ends, but he decides to repeat it as he replies to Kyungsoo. 

_pcy92: loved it. u know my schedule or something?_

_pcy92: how was ur date?_

Chanyeol watches the bubble appear and disappear, biting his lip.

_dksoo: u’re a busy person so i thought it suited u_

_dksoo: tbh it kinda sucked jongin picked me up_

_dksoo: i wanted to get some work done so im at the library_

Chanyeol looks at the fried chicken place he’s passing by, and makes a decision he isn’t sure he’ll regret later.

He silently thanks Baekhyun for making him bring his notes.

“Just in case you want to work on lyrics here,” he’d said, but the moment he’d settled on the couch all plans for songwriting evaporated.

_pcy92: im on my way to the library actually_

_pcy92: will u be there for long?_

_dksoo: oh_

_dksoo: im planning on finishing my part of the script for our play next month_

_dksoo: so i guess i’ll be here a while_

_pcy92: what flavor do u like_

_pcy92: im buying fried chicken_

_dksoo: u don’t have to_

_pcy92: u don’t like chicken?_

_pcy92: what kind of college student doesn’t like fast food_

_dksoo: this one_

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, chuckling when his phone beeps again while he’s in line not three minutes later. Kyungsoo preferred cheese. 

“Why does he have so many clothes,” Chanyeol mutters to himself when he takes in the sight of Kyungsoo.

He’s in a hoodie this time; hair fluffy and curling slightly at his nape, jeans to go along with his sneakers. The headphones are back, hanging from his neck, and Kyungsoo’s notebooks occupy most of the table that he’s claimed. 

Chanyeol is supposed to be calm. Kyungsoo looks normal. It’s not a particularly striking outfit either. He wore that combination all the time, but it has the thing inside Chanyeol blooming again.

Kyungsoo smiles when he sees him, and the butterflies take flight.

It was easier, Chanyeol decides, when they pretended to not know each other. 

But now—

Now, there’s only Kyungsoo, soft and handsome, reaching out to take hold of the plastic bags Chanyeol has with him. 

“How much do I owe you?”

In the quiet of the near-empty library, Kyungsoo’s voice bounces off the walls, making it sound deeper than it did most days. 

“Nothing,” Chanyeol says, removing his coat. “It’s payback for dinner.”

“Dinner was payback for saving my life.”

“It’s fine, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol fixes the food onto the table. “Don’t worry.”

Kyungsoo insists, already pulling out his wallet. Chanyeol sighs and just continues on, placing the gravy and melted cheese between them. 

Why was it so hard to treat rich people? 

They bicker back and forth for a while, until—

“A kiss then, if you won’t shut up about it.” 

The ensuing silence is brief, but it’s enough to make Chanyeol pause and realize what he just said. He starts trying to take it back, but then Kyungsoo laughs.

“Damn,” Kyungsoo says, finally helping Chanyeol with the food, “does Mina know you flirt like this?”

“Like what?” 

“Like a high school boy.”

“First of all,” Chanyeol points his chopsticks at him, “Mina and I are just friends. Second of all, fuck you, I flirt plenty.”

“Maybe.” Kyungsoo shrugs, licking his lips. “But not _well._ ”

"Oh, and you'd know?"

"Looks like I'd know more than you." There it is again—the challenge, pulling the both of them into a familiar space.

Chanyeol’s about to protest, halfheartedly, because Kyungsoo's right, when he feels a hand curl behind his neck, dragging him forward to meet softness against his cheeks. The world slows down, pinpointing to the feeling of velvet on his skin. 

“There,” Kyungsoo pulls away, and the moment _snaps,_ “payment for dinner and a lesson, you can think of it as a package. Rule number one: don’t spout bullshit you’re not willing to push through with.”

In the din of the library, Chanyeol can’t process _anything_ , can’t get past the fact that Kyungsoo actually _kissed him on the cheeks_ — 

“What is it Park?” Kyungsoo tilts his head. The insufferable look is back in his eyes, “want another one?”

It jolts him back to the present; makes Chanyeol want to wipe that smug smile off his face.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, “just because you took me by surprise doesn’t mean you’re better at it than me.”

Kyungsoo only hums in response, looking far too amused as he settles down and takes a bite of his chicken.

He stays quiet though, and Chanyeol just narrows his eyes at him before eating his own food.

When they take a small break, Kyungsoo tells him about his failed date, and Chanyeol tells him about his new song. 

And then they talk about siblings, and then they talk about training, and then they talk about everything and nothing; job opportunities and choir songs and their dogs.

Kyungsoo is _warm_ —he’s always been a warm person, but Chanyeol has only ever witnessed it around a big group of people. He’s interesting and wise and polite, despite the language he used.

Chanyeol realizes that the same spark that allows him to match Chanyeol’s fire comes from this—and he now understands why everyone loved clinging to Kyungsoo so much.

It’s refreshing to see this side of him, the one that he chooses to show to everybody else, and between the lull of the library and the drone of the lyrics in his ears, he feels the thing inside him bloom even more. 

  
  


The hours blend together, and Chanyeol doesn’t know how his head ends up on Kyungsoo’s shoulder.

Kyungsoo is still typing away on his laptop, jolting when he senses Chanyeol waking up.

“What time is it?” Chanyeol's voice is rough against his throat.

He notes the bean bags around him, and remembers the both of them migrating to the library’s lobby area sometime around midnight. 

The air is colder, and the soft pitter-patter of rain fills the silence. There are pen streaks on his jeans. 

“Half past three, I think.” Kyungsoo dislodges Chanyeol from his spot when he sets his laptop on the table.

Chanyeol watches him put his glasses down and rub his eyes. “You haven’t taken a break yet?”

“I—“ Kyungsoo’s interrupted by a yawn, “no. I’m finished, though. I think. I don't know what hurts.” 

Kyungsoo looks so _s_ _oft_ and _tired_ , hair disheveled and head nodding off, Chanyeol decides to blame it for what he does next.

He pats the crook of his neck, not letting Kyungsoo answer before he gently pulls the smaller boy against him.

His arms wrap protectively around his shoulders, and Chanyeol isn’t prepared for the weight on his chest; he only hopes Kyungsoo can’t feel how fast his heart is beating.

“Sleep,” he says, catching a sniff of lemon in Kyungsoo’s hair. “This is payback for being stupid enough to let me lean on you for a straight three hours.”

Kyungsoo huffs into a smile. He tries to resist, but his eyelids are already dropping. “Why is it always payback with you?”

Chanyeol’s mind flashes with answers, none of them casual. 

“It’s hard to have debts with rich people,” he says instead. “They turn everything into ways they get more money.”

Kyungsoo rests his head on Chanyeol’s chest, finally giving up. “I shouldn’t get used to this, then?”

There’s silence as Chanyeol thinks of what to say.

He doesn't know how long it lasts, and all that can be heard is the thunderstorm outside, the monsoons of summer taking hold. 

Kyungsoo can’t wait for him. His breathing evens out, and the fingers that have been tapping against the back of Chanyeol’s hand slow to a stop. 

“No,” Chanyeol mutters.

To himself or to Kyungsoo, he isn’t sure. 

“You shouldn’t.”

Except Chanyeol _does_ get used to it. 

Over the next few weeks, Chanyeol gets used to a lot of things—

Like claiming Kyungsoo’s shoulder most of the time.

He uses it as an armrest during training (to Kyungsoo’s mild annoyance), leans against it when the summer heat comes in waves during their more boring classes. 

Chanyeol will wrap an arm around them when he bothers Kyungsoo, which is, whenever he can.

Kyungsoo finds him staring at the reflection of the water through the glass doors of the locker rooms, after a disappointing session in training. 

Everyone had bad days, Joohyun had insisted, but it didn’t matter, because everyone had bad days that stuck to them especially hard too. And this had been one of Chanyeol’s worse ones. 

Kyungsoo had been waiting for him, causing the familiar steps walking past the door. Kyungsoo didn’t say anything—knew he didn’t have to.

Just let Chanyeol’s arms find purchase in his shoulders, letting the taller swimmer sigh against the top of his head, heat and the sharp scent of chlorine invading his senses.

He didn’t care how Kyungsoo knew how to comfort him; didn’t bother thinking. 

Only fixated on Kyungsoo’s _solidity_ , the way he hugged Chanyeol’s middle, tight and reassuring in itself; his fingers rubbing circles down his waist. 

“Let’s get takoyaki, loser,” he’d said after they’d stayed there for long enough, and Chanyeol had no choice but to laugh. 

From then on, Kyungsoo becomes…

A safe place. 

Maybe. 

Chanyeol isn’t sure anymore. 

  
  


In turn, Kyungsoo claims Chanyeol’s hands.

He finds them whenever they go to new cities for meets, fingertip-to-fingertip as they tour new sports complexes and buy street food. 

He teaches Chanyeol how to do tricks like how he does with pens, but where Kyungsoo is dexterous, Chanyeol is clumsy; too fixated on Kyungsoo’s hands rather than his instructions.

Sometimes, Kyungsoo will reach out, and Chanyeol will slide his fingers in the spaces between his; and they separate just as quickly, only a small reminder that one is here, and the other is there.

When Kyungsoo is anxious, Chanyeol takes his palms, massaging where he needs to, softly pressing the tips of his fingers. Yoora used to do it when he was a kid to calm him down, but it seems to be more useful on Kyungsoo than it ever was on him.

Chanyeol understands the way he is.

Kyungsoo may internalize everything and Chanyeol the opposite, but they were the same—they felt overwhelmed at too much comfort.

Comfort that was too big, comfort that suffocated.

He forces himself not to notice how well they fit together, because Chanyeol knows all of it shouldn’t mean anything.

Everything they do is common skinship between boys, maybe with a bit of a closer relationship than others, but he sees Kyungsoo do the same to everyone else.

He lets Jongin climb into his arms whenever he asks and lets Baekhyun swing their hands together when they walk, lets Jongdae cuddle him like a teddy bear in the water.

So when Doyoung keeps going to where Kyungsoo is during the annual club fair, Chanyeol expects the other guys to be livid like he is; expects them to look as irritated as Chanyeol feels when he sees Kyungsoo’s annoyed glances.

“Nope,” Jongin says when Chanyeol asks. With Jongin’s reputation as a protective best friend, Chanyeol suspects he’s lying. “Just you, hyung.” 

There’s a gleam in Jongin’s eyes as he shares a look with Baekhyun.

They’re at their designated booth, selling cookies, while Kyungsoo is on flyer duty, attracting enough attention with his height and build. 

Doyoung is touching Kyungsoo’s arm, and Chanyeol can almost hear Kyungsoo’s excuses from where he is. There’s a tightness to his movements, his laugh not reaching his eyes whenever Doyoung travels to his waist.

Chanyeol sees red.

“Go get ‘em,” Jongdae calls out, but Chanyeol doesn’t process it.

Doyoung is a whole head shorter than Chanyeol, so it isn’t hard to scare him off. 

Chanyeol doesn’t even remember what he said. Only that Kyungsoo looked uncomfortable, and that Doyoung was their senior by two years. 

If the fire in his gut was less intense, Chanyeol figures he might have cared more.

  
  


“I like you,” Sehun says. 

They’re in the library, preparing for tests. The sky is only just beginning to darken, pinks and violets streaking through the clouds. 

“Sure Sehun.” Chanyeol doesn't take his eyes off his reviewers, “I like you too.” 

It only hits him once he notices that everyone has gone silent—Baekyun’s paused his music, a furrow between his brows, Jongin is frozen above his book, fingers poised to turn over the page, and beside him, Kyungsoo is twirling his pen in his hands, an impassive look on his face as he stares down his music theory notes. 

“No,” Sehun says, shaking his head, as if he knows Chanyeol hasn’t processed it fully, “I like you, hyung.” 

Chanyeol stares; not managing to do anything else. The air is tense, charged, and the balance hangs in what comes out of his mouth next. 

But it’s not Chanyeol that breaks the silence—there’s a screech of wood against wood when Kyungsoo stands up, pushing his chair back. 

“I’m turning in.” Kyungsoo's movements as he packs his things are controlled, heavy. “I’ll get my notes tomorrow, Jongin.”

“You said you were going to spend all night here,” Chanyeol doesn’t mean to whine, but it comes out like that anyway, “with us.” 

Kyungsoo offers him a tight-lipped smile.

“Something came up,” he says, waving his phone like Chanyeol hasn’t seen its screen stay black for the past two hours. 

Before anyone can protest, he’s out the door. 

Jongin heaves out an exasperated sigh. He looks at Chanyeol, and then the door, and back to him.

He shakes his head, and the _tsk_ that comes out of his mouth is a click against the silence previously broken. 

“At least one of your friends can recognize a private moment,” Sehun says. 

“You’re the one that barged in here,” Jongin mutters. Without Kyungsoo, Chanyeol expects Jongin to get up and leave with him. 

Sehun ignores him. “So, are you going to answer me anytime soon?”

Chanyeol had his fair share of rejection, but Sehun was called a brat, albeit endearingly, for a reason.

Chanyeol saw nothing but a wise younger brother in Sehun, even if he’d heard his teammates gush about him more than he preferred. 

“What are you doing outside at this time of night,” Chanyeol asks instead, trying to be gentle. “Don’t you have a big event for the clothing tech department tomorrow?” 

“I came here to ask you to be my date, actually,” Sehun says, and Chanyeol keeps being thrown off with how easy he says it—like he was just asking him where the bathroom was or if they had an essay due next week. 

This is when he knows his problem with Kyungsoo can now be officially considered a problem, because he keeps seeing Kyungsoo’s expression, brows down and eyes tight. 

“You like someone else,” Sehun says, catching the words in the air. He says it as simple as his confession. There’s disappointment, definitely, but not much of it.

Chanyeol narrows his eyes at him, blows out his cheeks. “Yah, Oh Sehun, do you actually like me?” 

“I needed a partner for tomorrow,” Sehun shrugs, “and I liked you enough to confess, so that should count for something.” 

“It doesn’t,” Baekhyun chimes in. He’s laid out on the floor beside the table, Jongdae’s head on his stomach. “You just like Chanyeol because he’s tall.” 

"But hyung,” Sehun starts to plead, “could you at least be my date? I already promised Mina you’d be there.” 

“How about Jongin?”

“Can’t,” Jongin mutters, back to his book, the conversation now uninteresting to him, “I have that workshop to teach with Seulgi.”

Chanyeol studies the younger boy. “You’re not even that put out, aren’t you?” 

“Hyung, I’m plenty put out,” Sehun tries to pout, but the smile in his eyes has already taken hold, fingers steepled on the table. “So, you’ll be my date?” 

  
  


Chanyeol regrets being Sehun’s date. 

It’s not because he’s in a party full of potential sponsors in the fashion industry—Chanyeol’s been in enough luncheons to know how to navigate through thick pockets and even thicker faces. 

It’s not because he’s in the softest suit he’s ever been in either—Mina had kept fussing and fussing in the dressing rooms, asking if he was comfortable, and Chanyeol had to stop her by saying he couldn’t feel any seams and he was scared the suit would fall right off. 

“The cloth is from Japan,” she’d beamed, running a finger down his arm. “You two are my best bets today.”

He might not have been too enthusiastic to entertain Sehun’s offer, but he remembers thinking that seeing his quiet friend’s smile is worth it. 

“Thanks for doing this.” 

“You’ll tell me about Chaeyoung later,” Chanyeol had winked.

Mina had laughed. “Kyungsoo is also out there. _Chaeyoung_ asked him, would you believe it?” 

It’s not Sehun’s arm linked to his as they make their way into the hall either.

No. 

Chanyeol regrets being Sehun’s date because of the person now only a few feet away from him, the lights bouncing off his black suit. 

“Ah,” Sehun says, taking a sip from his glass, “he’s the ‘someone else’.” 

For a moment, Chanyeol considers telling him the truth. And then decides that Sehun probably doesn’t need him to say it anyway. 

Sehun pats his shoulder. “You clean up well,” he assures, turning to leave, leaning in to whisper something in Chanyeol’s ear while he drags them towards Kyungsoo, “between you and me though, your friend does it better.”

“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo greets, mouth twisting into a polite smile. 

Kyungsoo’s cheekbones are dusted with fine glitter, some falling to the black velvet settling around his frame. His suit is cut to hug his shoulders, and Chanyeol blames his swimming career for being more affected with them covered than them bare. 

Kyungsoo’s hair is styled away from his face, his usual heavy bangs giving way to the elegant tilt of his chin—the powerful lines of his jaw. 

There it is again—something is blooming, making Chanyeol’s breath hitch as he takes in the sight of him. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and he quickly covers his mouth, as if it can pull the words back to where they were supposed to stay hidden, safe in his mind.

Kyungsoo laughs, and it sends the butterflies in his stomach into a riot— _why must he be so pretty—_

“Thank you,” Kyungsoo looks down, as if it’s still hitting him that the way he’s standing in the warm glow of the lights isn’t making everyone track his every movement. “I don’t go to these kinds of things.” 

He forces himself not to stutter at the sight of Kyungsoo’s eye makeup. “You’re a natural. Like the son of a CEO, almost.” 

Kyungsoo’s answering smile is still tight with politeness. 

That’s when Chanyeol catches it. Their conversation is stilted—Kyungsoo keeps their topics light, asking questions he already knows the answers to, like they’ve only just met, like they were back to square one.

Chanyeol tries to make things better, teasing and taunting, all familiar territory, but Kyungsoo’s answers are clipped, distant. 

“Soo,” Chanyeol ventures, careful, “did something happen? Are you alright?”

Something shutters in Kyungsoo’s eyes. 

“Hyung!” Sehun appears, “you wouldn’t believe—oh.” 

Chanyeol looks at him sharply. 

“Oh,” Sehun recovers, straightening and holding out his hand, “as in, Oh Sehun.” 

“I should go,” Kyungsoo takes it, bowing to the both of them. “It was nice to meet you properly, Oh Sehun. Junmyeon-hyung talks about you a lot.”

Chanyeol almost snorts with how fast Sehun’s attention peaks. “He does?” 

Kyungsoo nods. “Enjoy the rest of the night,” he says, already beginning to turn away.

 _Wait,_ Chanyeol wants to grab his wrist. _You were going to tell me something. Something important._

As if he hears him, Kyungsoo stops and looks back. “You too, Chanyeol,” he calls out. “Look beautiful, I mean.” 

With that, he disappears into the crowd, his gait proving Chanyeol right; he moves like he belongs, like he’s been trained to catch attention. 

“See, I kinda regret barging in on you guys now,” Sehun says. 

“ _Kinda?”_

“Anyway,” Sehun says, hand rubbing his neck. “Mina wants to showcase her pieces. This one is big, there’s a job offer waiting for her once she graduates, she needs us to look pretty.” 

Chanyeol tries to find Kyungsoo again, tries to talk to him, but everytime he gets close, Kyungsoo slips away, into another conversation with an investor or student. 

By the end of the night, Kyungsoo is gone. 

  
  
  
  
  


Chanyeol prefers calling it the monsoon season instead of summer. 

He prefers the thunderstorms over the sunny days—land training isn’t so difficult when you have rain beating in waves down your shoulders. 

He loves watching the rain bounce off the university oval, sometimes so hard that a layer of fog would form above the grass, blurring them together until all you could see was a sheet of white, maybe a haze of color. 

As Chanyeol walks back to the dorms, umbrella in one hand and exhaustion in the other, he thinks that maybe he and Kyungsoo are the same. 

Maybe they had fitted so well with each other as friends that the only other way to go was apart, back to a blurry space, back to distant glances and polite responses; like if you were at rock-bottom there was no other way to go but up. 

But worse. 

The first time he challenged Kyungsoo to another childish bet—

_—maybe next time, Chanyeol—_

—he’d reeled, thought he hadn’t heard properly.

But Kyungsoo was already making his way to Baekhyun, and Chanyeol had no choice but to watch him go. 

The first time he’d pushed the other boy into the pool and Kyungsoo offered no resistance and laughed it off, shaking his head at him _like he was a child_ , the butterflies in Chanyeol’s gut had turned to stone.

The first time Chanyeol had outright teased him, taunted that he couldn’t possibly touch the other side of the wall first and Kyungsoo had only sighed and ignored him, Chanyeol couldn’t help the hurt look on his face. 

Chanyeol’s mind keeps going back to the night of the Fashion Gala—how Kyungsoo’s eyes had shifted. 

This time, it's Kyungsoo that keeps his distance, humming along whenever they hang out, clinging to Jongin or Baekhyun, making sure he isn't alone with Chanyeol. 

Chanyeol doesn't understand. 

He misses Kyungsoo—misses the other boy's silent presence, misses the way he'd roll his eyes whenever Chanyeol told a corny joke on purpose.

Kyungsoo won’t let Chanyeol get close enough to ask. 

  
  
  
  
  


Chanyeol has a theory.

He needs Sehun to prove it. 

  
  
  
  


The hallways smell like rain. 

Students file close to the walls, shuffling together to avoid the wet ricochet of the storm. On calmer days, hotter days, they would lean over the railings—summer drafts rustling the trees. 

Today, however, their branches are weighed down by a heavy torrent—the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance, like it has been for the past hour. Chanyeol hunts him down, asking anyone where he’s been. 

He finds Kyungsoo in the College of Music library, right by the window. 

The sleeves of his flannel shirt are pulled back to his elbows, and his headphones hang loose around his neck. 

If Kyungsoo won’t talk about it, fine. 

Chanyeol just wants his friend back. 

_You really think I’ll let you disappear on me again?_

“Hey,” Chanyeol slides into the chair in front of him. “I know you’ve been avoiding me for reasons I don’t know, but I need your help.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t bother to look up; instead, the pen in his hands starts spinning.

The Sonic, Chanyeol remembers. Kyungsoo’s favorite combination to use. 

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” Kyungsoo frowns. “Help with what?” 

“You have, actually,” Chanyeol rushes through, not giving Kyungsoo a chance to protest, “but I think I know why. I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m right, but I have to test my theory.”

Chanyeol leans forward. Students pass them by, hushing and acting like the both of them didn’t have ears to hear the things they fail to whisper behind their hands. 

_—it’s those guys from the pushup video—_

_—the swim team?—_

_—put your phone down oh my god—_

_—i thought they hated each other—_

“Me and Sehun want to go on a double date, but we’re missing one person; they flaked last minute. It’s tomorrow, and we don’t have time to get other people—”

“Then just go on a regular date,” Kyungsoo snaps. His grip on his pen becomes too tight to perform tricks on. 

Chanyeol pretends he doesn't notice. 

Chanyeol is adrift, but if he plays his cards right, he could come back to shore; finally get an anchor on Kyungsoo again. 

“Sehun wants a double date. He won’t shut up about it, and he’ll never let me have a moment’s peace if I don’t do this one thing for him either. Could you be the other half of one? You owe me.” 

“For what?” 

“For saving your life two years ago,” Chanyeol forces a smile, almost mocking. “Do me this one favor and we’ll be even.” 

The pen clatters to the tabletop. Kyungsoo’s face is unreadable; hands coming to cross in front of his chest.

There’s a beat—Chanyeol knows that the absence of protest from Kyungsoo means his approval.

He can’t believe he pulled it off. 

“We’re going for barbecue, you know that fancy place across uni? Dress nice,” Chanyeol winks. “Thanks, Soo.” 

The full brunt of Kyungsoo's glare has Chayeol shrinking back. This time, there is no rivalry to fall back on; no taunts and teasing to change the course of Kyungsoo’s attacks. 

This one is sharp, _cold,_ tearing down Chanyeol’s butterflies. 

But then Kyungsoo sighs, and all the fight seems to drain from him. He looks—defeated. 

“Don’t call me that.”

Chanyeol ignores the way Kyungsoo hides his face in his hands after he sees Chanyeol walk out of the library. 

Peering through the door, Chanyeol swears he looks just as conflicted. 

“What,” Kyungsoo says, stopping short of the restaurant’s doors. His eyes are wide, brows furrowed in confusion, staring at Sehun and Junmyeon holding hands through the window.

“What.” 

“Thanks for doing this,” Chanyeol smiles. “They get really gross sometimes.” 

“But you said—”

“I said we needed an extra person.” 

“You—I thought—”

“You seem to be thinking all kinds of things lately,” Chanyeol cuts him off.

He pulls a still-confused Kyungsoo inside, letting the scent of grilled meat invade his senses. 

The place is packed with people; students just like them, enjoying a weekend out before finals. The chatter is incessant, drifting and coming from everywhere. 

Chanyeol points to their table; meat ready, side-dishes settled around their plates. 

Chanyeol startles when Kyungsoo reaches for his hands.

The gesture is old and familiar between them, but shocking nonetheless, given...

Recent developments. 

Sehun has his arm around Junmyeon, surprisingly the clingier one in their relationship. Just like Kyungsoo, Chanyeol had hunted them down; saw them holding hands outside the basketball court. 

The two were skeptical of his plan at first. Less skeptical when Chanyeol had told them he was paying. It seems worth it.

Kyungsoo shifts. 

He’s chattier around him now; won’t stop asking Sehun questions about when he and Junmyeon got together, smiling when one tells an embarrassing story about the other. 

At some point, the steam fogs up his glasses, and he sticks his tongue out at him when Chanyeol hands him a tissue. 

_You’re back_ , Chanyeol thinks, staring at Kyungsoo seated across him. 

They’re laughing about some Theater 11 teacher that Junmyeon hates. 

_And exposed._

“Let’s get takoyaki,” Chanyeol says, after Sehun and Junmyeon leave.

The daylight is only just beginning to fade; only starting to shift colors. 

Kyungsoo seems too occupied with himself to disagree, like he does with each one of Chanyeol’s suggestions right after. That’s how they end up on the bleachers, watching the sun set over the university oval. 

The clouds are painted pink. Ribbons of orange and yellow break through the sky, almost as comforting as Kyungsoo’s weight beside him. 

They watch the athletics team train over the tracks while they eat, and after Kyungsoo snatches his last piece with a cheeky smile on his face, they watch them slowly trickle out of the stadium too.

Kyungsoo scrolls through instagram. He double taps Junmyeon’s post of them eating—the shot shows Chanyeol preparing the food while Kyungsoo throws up a v-sign in front of him. 

_Apgujeong station_ , Chanyeol reads. 

Kyungsoo continues on, sighing contentedly as he leans back even further into Chanyeol’s side.

It’s the closest they’ve been in days. 

Their position has him remembering the day Baekhyun had pulled him into the cafeteria—he’d panicked back then; pleaded with his eyes to get him _out._

Not like now, where he doesn’t want Kyungsoo to move away; where he’s hyper aware of Kyungsoo’s body heat, leaking through where Kyungsoo’s shirt touched Chanyeol’s skin. 

The thought has him huffing out a smile. 

“What’s so funny?” 

Chanyeol shakes his head. “A lot of things.” 

Kyungsoo just hums, used to him already, and it hits Chanyeol as to how much they’ve grown together in a year. 

Chanyeol almost can’t believe how long it’s been—a year since Kyungsoo was about to set Chanyeol on a trip to viewing him as this stranger, to a threat to his reputation, and then suddenly to someone he looked for, _constantly._

The thing blooming inside him still had its thorns.

But right now, all he can see are the flowers—Kyungsoo’s heart shaped smile and the sharp gleam in his eyes and the pen tricks he loved to do, his hoodies and bets and jokes.

The way he’d molded himself so harshly in Chanyeol’s mind, punched himself a spot by his side, taking his heart out with him whenever he taunted and teased and flirted back. 

And if Chanyeol wasn’t deluded, if the prospect of Sehun being his boyfriend or not changed how Kyungsoo treated him _that fast_ , then he was right. 

The thorns push against Chanyeol’s chest, the constant _why would he like you back_ hiding among the petals.

The ones that remind him of how much he missed Kyungsoo when he started to drift away, the ones that said their unique friendship was too precious to risk. 

Chanyeol decides that their potential to be _more_ was too great not to. 

“I don’t want to be friends anymore,” Chanyeol says, into the space where Kyungsoo has found his hands, tapping to a rhythm neither of them can hear. 

Kyungsoo’s fingers still against his palm. 

“I—“ Kyungsoo starts, voice small, and Chanyeol almost laughs, which he supposes is a bit cruel, because Kyungsoo is starting to look more panicked by the second, “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want to _just_ be friends anymore,” Chanyeol corrects, watching the surprise dance across Kyungsoo’s face. “You’re probably going to reject me after this, but I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time.” 

Chanyeol had expected the confession to be loaded, almost freeing, in a way that suggested his feelings were a burden to bear. But the words are light; weaving in and out of everything they’ve become for each other. 

“Why?” Kyungsoo asks, so quiet Chanyeol almost doesn’t hear him. “When?” 

Chanyeol thinks the questions are stupid. 

_Why not_? the butterflies whisper, almost offended. _As if there was a chance I wouldn’t like you the way I do._

“When you said I’d be a good team captain, I think,” Chanyeol answers anyway. “That’s when I started to fall for you, and it just got worse from there. I realized along the way.” 

Kyungsoo's eyes catch the final rays of the sun, splitting them into fractals of copper and gold. The sight is too much—a sunset of his own—so Chanyeol turns his gaze away, tries to not get burned. 

“I don’t have to be careful around you. Not in a way that’s exhausting. I don’t know if this makes sense, but—”

There is no one else but them and the grass rustling below. 

“I think, when I met you, I had nothing to prove. I just had to be your rival, and then I could be whatever I wanted. I enjoyed being around you, and then you just—had to go and do all those _things_ —what else was I supposed to do but fall for you?” 

Something nags at him. Chanyeol _knows_ Kyungsoo’s silence; has become accustomed to its shape and texture. This one is... 

Heavy. 

Soft. 

Different. 

“I’d really appreciate it if you said something.”

Chanyeol reels back when he sees what's etched in that pretty face. 

Regret. 

“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo's gaze _hurts_ and Chanyeol has to turn away. “I’m really sorry, Chanyeol.” 

The butterflies in Chanyeol’s gut pierce themselves on thorns.

 _This is what they get_ , the thorns whisper, _for flittering too close to the flowers_.

“No, it’s okay,” Chanyeol starts again, even as the thorns grow, grow, grow, casting blood on the pretty pink petals, “you know you don’t have to like me back, right? God, I fucked up—it’s just, with everything, and the Sehun thing, I thought, maybe—“ 

Chanyeol feels a finger on his chin, and he has no choice but to level with Kyungsoo’s stare. 

The sunset’s rays have shifted. 

This, Chanyeol is friendlier with; when his eyes are so dark they become almost black; the rich whites the only reprieve to the abyss that is Kyungsoo’s seriousness. 

There is a gleam between the colors; one Chanyeol has ingrained to his mind.

Kyungsoo’s lips twitch, and Chanyeol realizes he’s holding back a smile. 

Relief courses through him. And annoyance. And fondness. 

But mostly relief. 

“You _piece of shit_ —“

“I'm sorry I made you second-guess yourself,” Kyungsoo shushes, syllables mixing together in an attempt to smother the laugh shaking his shoulders, “I thought I was being obvious, Yeol.” 

_"Motherfucker—"_

“So I took the idea of you and Sehun being a couple as a rejection, but without the embarrassment—I told myself to be grateful. You spent more time with him and—I don't know." He shakes his head, as if to clear cobwebs. 

"I missed you so much, but you were my most comfortable friend, so I couldn't risk my feelings ruining the friendship we had."

His smile proves Chanyeol right—Do Kyungsoo took the sun with him. “I like you too. Of course I'd like you too. I’d be blind or stupid not to.” 

Kyungsoo reaches up to cup the back of Chanyeol’s neck, his other hand travelling to his waist.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, sounding soft and sweet and _shy_. 

Chanyeol can’t stop looking at him—can’t focus on anything else but the curve of Kyungsoo’s nose, the small freckles littered across his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he retaliates, pretending to angle his face away. 

He hears a laugh, and the next thing he knows is Kyungsoo pulling him down—the world narrowing on the feeling of Kyungsoo’s thumb grazing his jaw, Kyungsoo’s lips, _god fuck,_ _Kyungsoo’s lips—_

Kyungsoo's hand wraps around his neck, and Chanyeol sighs into it, a ball of contentment and yearning and giddiness.

This time, it’s the thorns that turn to dust, and the butterflies flutter back to life, growing and growing until he feels like a hurricane is stirring inside him.

“Watch me use ‘I’m sorry’ against you for our whole relationship,” Chanyeol says when they finally break apart, breaths mingling together.

"Payback,” Kyungsoo laughs, cheeks flushed red. “For making me panic with your ‘I don’t want to be friends anymore’ bullshit.”

“That’s not fair,” Chanyeol whines as he kisses him again, just because he _can_ , because he’s allowed to now, “I can’t believe you let me think I was _rejected_.”

“For three seconds!” Kyungsoo whines back.

He rests their foreheads together, enjoying the closeness. Beautiful. Kyungsoo was the kind of beautiful that contradicted itself _—_ strong and graceful, stunning and subtle. 

“You theater kids are nothing but trouble,“ Chanyeol murmurs. 

Kyungsoo’s lips land on his nose, and his cheeks, and his jaw. “You know what they say about music majors, Yeol?” Little pecks, in between the words he says. “They say they only date so they can have something on their portfolios.”

“Ah,” Chanyeol giggles, _giggles_ , in between Kyungsoo’s attacks on his face, “my agenda has been revealed.”

“Maybe we should just break up then," Kyungsoo pulls away, the teasing in his voice just as insufferable as all the other times, "we had a good two-minute run—” 

Chanyeol shuts his boyfriend up, kissing him long after the sunset sky shifts into night. 

They go back to Chanyeol’s dorms—

_—you know Baekhyun and Jongdae really rooted for you—_

_—I really don’t want to hear anyone else’s name while we're making out—_

_—right, sorry—_

_—_ where Kyungsoo pushes Chanyeol down on the couch, straddling his hips, and continues his speech. 

He tells Chanyeol of when he’d fallen for him; the day Chanyeol wouldn’t stop calling his name, or the day Chanyeol had fallen asleep on his shoulder.

“Or maybe it was the day your dumbass was willing to stay in a thunderstorm just to wait for me,” he says, pinning Chanyeol on his bed, loving the noises that came out of him when he nipped at his ears.

”Pick a moment and stick to it,” Chanyeol starts to grumble, until words fail him when Kyungsoo starts _licking_.

Their sex is sloppy, owing to the sheer giddiness coming from the both of them. It doesn’t matter. There will be better times, sweeter and rougher, softer and slower. 

For now, Chanyeol relishes the glowing feeling in his chest, heart soaring as Kyungsoo settles between his arms, the scent of his lemon shampoo the last thing that comes to his mind before he falls asleep. 

His butterflies are finally victorious.

  
  
  
  


~~~

Regionals was always the most chaotic meet of the summer. 

The crowd is the biggest it’s ever been.

Parents and coaches add to the swimmers; holding energy drinks and heat sheets, handing over towels and insulated water bottles. 

The third day of regionals meant a last chance to most of them. If they didn’t make the cut into the earlier legs of the competition, the events for today were their last ones to win. 

Despite the four gold medals waiting to be hung around Kyungsoo’s neck, he’s antsy too; excitement for their relay later sending a buzz thrumming through his veins. 

Kyungsoo. Chanyeol. Baekhyun. Jongdae. 

A power medley formed by the top swimmers of one of the top competing universities—which meant they were going against other top teams, sure, but Kyungsoo isn’t particularly worried.

It was more an exhibition than anything else. 

“Team captain,” someone says, and Kyungsoo knows it’s definitely _not_ Chanyeol’s hands that perch on his arm. “Hi.” 

With the way Chanyeol and Kyungsoo’s moods have started at _jealous_ ever since they came stepped out of the bus—

_—hey, Chanyeol, remember that guy that announced his number over the intercom—_

_—and mentioned me?—_

_—he’s going to do another stunt this year—_

_—says he’s looking out for a particular team captain—_

_—yeah I saw his story on instagram—_

—Kyungsoo almost shakes the idiot off. 

“Hello,” he greets back instead, stifling a groan when the hand he nudges away settles on his shoulder. “It’s _co-team captain_ , actually.” 

When Chanyeol had proposed the idea of announcing to the team that they were a couple, Kyungsoo _knew_ he should have caved and given in. 

“C’mon, Soo,” Chanyeol had whined, cornering him in the locker rooms, “you know how those things are.” 

He meant the attention. 

The constant gazes of overeager non-swimmers come flocking to the stadiums, a whole three days of dealing with girls tripping over themselves at an indulging wink from any athlete from their hometown. 

“Can’t it wait after regionals?” Kyungsoo had answered, gripping the taller boy’s hips.

Chanyeol may have had him pinned to lockers, but Kyungsoo was never really one to go down without a fight. 

He’d pulled Chanyeol down, huffing a breath behind the taller boy’s earlobes. Chanyeol had squirmed—he always did—and Kyungsoo made sure his voice was low and deep. “I’d rather have you all to myself first.”

A beat—

“Aish,” Chanyeol had jerked away, trying to look annoyed. “Stop that.” 

But Kyungsoo was already smirking at the bulge in Chanyeol’s pants. 

Kyungsoo liked cockblocking Chanyeol sometimes, because it meant he’d be frustrated and responsive and just on the right side of impatient when they’d have sex later.

The little noises he made, Kyungsoo decides, were worth his boyfriend’s glares. 

“After regionals,” Kyungsoo had cooed, wrapping an arm around Chanyeol’s waist. “Then you can shout all you want.”

Chanyeol had conceded. “I’m not responsible for the things that’ll happen.”

Kyungsoo had only huffed. “You think I can’t handle it?” 

If Chanyeol had answered and said no, then—

He would have been right. 

Kyungsoo recognizes him—another senior, fellow theater major—Dongmin. “If you have any questions about the summer lessons, I could call Jongdae right over—”

“You were amazing back there,” Dongmin says instead, jabbing his chin to the water. His smile is handsome, Kyungsoo supposes.

But it wasn’t Chanyeol’s.

A gunshot pierces through the air—Kyungsoo is grateful for the excuse to drag his gaze back to the pool. 

His eyes are greedy as they take in Chanyeol’s dive, watching his powerful strokes cut through the water. His technique is impeccable, always has been, and Kyungsoo would be cheering beside Jongin if it weren’t for the inconvenience in front of him.

“Thank you,” Kyungsoo says, already stepping away, eyes still stuck on Chanyeol’s form, now tied with the swimmer on the lane beside him. “The team is grateful for your support.”

“What was the event you came first place in again?”

_Goddamit._

“Oh,” Kyungsoo bites back his words, not wanting to cause problems during his first few days of being team captain. “Three. Breaststroke and freestyle, then the IM.” 

_Be responsible_ , Joohyun had said. _Your juniors will be watching you._

Could politeness pass off as responsible? Maybe. He didn’t have the energy for this. 

“I have to go, see you around—“

“Wait,” Dongmin grabs him by the wrist.

Kyungsoo almost leers at him, but he chooses to look where they are instead, hoping to catch Jongin’s eye, or maybe even Jongdae’s? Was he back from the bathroom already? 

He catches Mina’s stare instead, four levels from where he is. There’s a banner between her hands—the one for Seoul National Arts. She’s guarding Nayeon’s bags—the captain for the women’s team. 

_Help me_ , Kyungsoo pleads silently, _I want to watch my boyfriend._

Mina only gets her phone out, a mischievous smile painted across her face. 

“Do you want to—”

Dongmin is cut off by frantic whistles, the steady rise in shouts and screams now impossible to ignore. Kyungsoo’s heart leaps up his throat as he whips his head towards the water—Chanyeol is leading by less than a second. 

The world fades down to Chanyeol, down to the last ten meters.

“Come on,” Kyungsoo mutters, drumming his fingers against the barriers, ”come on, Yeol, _faster—_ ” 

Last five meters—Chanyeol doesn’t breathe—

Chanyeol’s hand slams into the touchpad, with _milliseconds_ between him and Cha Eunwoo of Busan University.

A roar erupts from their side of the bleachers.

There’s pride climbing up his chest, pulling at his lips as he watches Chanyeol rip off his cap and goggles.

He sends a wink Kyungsoo’s way, and Kyungsoo doesn’t even feel all too bad at the swoons from the girls near where he is.

He beams at Chanyeol, waiting for him to come up.

Kyungsoo watches the team pummel him, a different kind of pride bubbling up as he admires them from afar. 

Baekhyun is making enough noise to mimic a banshee, and Jongin is pouring ice water all over Chanyeol’s back, making him screech. The commotion doesn’t stop.

While Kyungsoo and Chanyeol had a rivalry all on their own, Cha Eunwoo had been Chanyeol’s competition for all butterfly events ever since he’d entered collegiate-level competitive swimming.

Jongdae points to where Kyungsoo is, and Chanyeol starts making his way over. 

Kyungsoo would never admit to being whipped.

But he is. 

Because Chanyeol is _impossible_ , wet hair pushed back, towel slung over his shoulders. 

Chanyeol was the kind of person that _glowed,_ attracting attention from anyone that saw him.

It wasn’t just his looks, handsome and beautiful in a combination that had the potential to bring anyone to their knees, it was the way he _moved_ —from the way he ran his hands through his hair to the way he’d shine when he’d talk about things he was passionate about.

Where Chanyeol went, everything else followed.

“Yeollie,” Kyungsoo calls out, beaming, hand already reaching for him, “I knew you wouldn’t let me get all the praise alone.”

But Chanyeol remains silent, ignoring the bait, staring him down. He steps into Kyungsoo’s side _._ The commotion follows—Kyungsoo _feels_ the eyes on him; senses heads turning to watch. 

“Is everything okay?” Kyungsoo starts, but it’s then that Dongmin’s grip grows tighter on his wrist. 

_Ah._

“Hyung,” he says, jerking his hand away, “you’re still here.”

Even under Chanyeol’s glare, the senior doesn’t relent, and Kyungsoo is impressed, the way you’d be impressed at a puppy for barking at another dog.

Chanyeol is at least a head taller than he is.

Dongmin rubs a hand on the back of his neck, smiling anyway. “I was wondering if you’d like to talk over dinner sometime.” 

“Oh hyung,” Kyungsoo says, trying to look apologetic, to contrast jealousy incarnate beside him, “I have dinner with someone else these days.” 

Chanyeol’s arm comes to sling around his shoulders.

Both in just their trunks, it’s skin-to-skin. 

“He has a boyfriend,” Chanyeol’s lips curl back, voice hard, deep. Kyungsoo feels the rumble on his neck, travelling down to his spine. “And he’s a bit angry at the moment."

Kyungsoo is grateful for the tiredness of the competition, because under normal circumstances, that tone would've gone straight to his cock. 

"If you want to test it, you can keep flirting with Kyungsoo. See what happens.” 

Dongmin’s eyes flick back and forth between them, and for a second, and only a second, all that can be heard are the electronic beeps of starting signals; the drone of the announcers through the intercom.

It’s another beat before Dongmin laughs, quickly apologizing and backing away.

Chanyeol watches him go, the edge of his stare not leaving until he sees Dongmin duck out of their side of the pool. 

“What happened,” Kyungsoo says as they head back to where the team is, grazing his thumb over Chanyeol’s hand, “to announcing it until _after_ regionals?”

Chanyeol shrugs. “I’m only a few hours early.”

They make their way back to the team, and Kyungsoo feels their gazes, heavy and expectant, fluttering and disconnected.

The heat feels different, Kyungsoo thinks, when it’s coupled with people that don’t know how to pretend they aren’t watching you.

“Caused quite the scene back there,” Kyungsoo says.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to try and top it—“

Kyungsoo clears his throat, snagging everyone’s attention like fishes on a line. 

Chanyeol only chuckles in defeat. 

Kyungsoo sweeps his eyes over the bleachers.

Mina is still recording on her phone. Jongin and Baekhyun are at the edge of their seats, ready to break the silence. Kyungsoo’s sure they’re all itching to ask the same question.

So Kyungsoo pulls Chanyeol down, giving him a quick peck on the lips, and answers it for them.

The team cheers, as Kyungsoo will describe much later, like a bunch of highschool boys, Baekhyun and Jongin the loudest out of all of them, rushing to where they are.

Kyungsoo laughs at Chanyeol’s attempts to get a deeper kiss in before they’re mobbed—

— _we’re in public, Yeol—_

_—you brought this onto yourself—_

And Kyungsoo has already lost track of who’s shaking his shoulders, just that Chanyeol’s yells are ringing through everything, _that’s enough, how did you even, hey, put me down_ , and the groaning of people losing to bets—

“There was a bet,” Kyungsoo says. "How did we not notice that?"

It’s the afternoon break before the awards ceremony, and everything has calmed down.

They’d promised the best friends detailed accounts of what happened, _how_ it happened, and free dinner to make up for their three days of secrecy.

“What—Joohyun— _you too?_ “

Joohyun is pouting at the twenty dollars she hands to Seulgi, who is brandishing the bills like she won a trophy.

“Are there any other bets?” Chanyeol asks.

Chanyeol’s hand is subtle, fingers slotting in between the spaces of Kyungsoo’s, not really holding his hand but just—there.

A small indulgence—they'd done clingier things, but it's this: paired with Chanyeol's lips curling into a smile, making him look like a satisfied cat in the sun, that somehow has Kyungsoo's heart in a bind, the tightness of it all stealing his breath away. 

Chanyeol leans back, the light filtering through the shade hitting his face.

Kyungsoo can finally, _finally_ , appreciate him without feeling doubt follow his every step—he'd spent so long forcing himself to accept that whatever friendship Chanyeol had given him was enough.

He'd spent so long forcing himself not to notice the way he'd reserve a different smile for their silly competitions, the way he stubbornly leaned on Kyungsoo's shoulder like he belonged by his side. 

They’d come so far from just being enemies in their past lives, farther than what those boys, laughing on a bench, with only a broken bike and a life debt between them, would’ve thought they’d become to each other.

The thought of it has Kyungsoo closing the distance between their fingers, Chanyeol’s questioning look adding to the wave of fondness that’s threatening to consume him. 

In that split-second, Kyungsoo finally allows himself to accept reality—that he’s lucky enough for Park Chanyeol to want him back.

“There’s a lot,” Seulgi says, trying to look innocent, but there’s a warning look from her girlfriend. “But we’ll get to that during dinner, won’t we boys? If you could just tell me who confessed first—“

“ _Shut up,_ ” Joohyun shushes, making Kyungsoo raise his brows, _“_ Park, Do, they’re calling for event 89. Do your best. Don’t be overconfident. Move.” 

As they leave, Chanyeol’s arm a comforting weight slung around his shoulder, Kyungsoo turns back.

He catches Seulgi’s eye—points to Chanyeol. 

“No cheating,” Chanyeol reprimands, giving him a small kiss to the forehead that's too quick for Kyungsoo to avoid. “I want to see Joohyun lose again later.” 

"Did you make a bet too?" Kyungsoo accuses. 

The smirk his boyfriend fails to hide is answer enough. 

"Park Chanyeol." 

"Hey—what order is our relay again? You're the anchor right? I'm what? Third?" 

"Answer the question." 

"You’re up against Kim Minseok, yeah? Do your best." 

"What did you bet."

"Jongdae—Baekhyun! Help me, oh my god—"

[Chanyeol bet guitar lessons for Baekhyun’s niece. He lost, because Baekhyun bet that Chanyeol would confess first.] 

-end- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for making it this far. this is my first fic ever on ao3, i hope i did well!
> 
> i almost scratched the final scene out, but since this work is set in third person limited, i wanted a bit of kyungsoo's perspective too [whipped]. [also jealous!yeol? hello? hot??] 
> 
> thank you to the mods for arranging this fest, follow them on twt!! 
> 
> english is only my third language, so i apologize for any lapses in spelling/grammar. 
> 
> if u liked this fic, pls consider leaving comments and kudos!! i’d love to hear from u <3


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